


The Shield Literary Society

by cold_nights_summer_days



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, Angst, BC I SAY SO, Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), F/M, Fluff, Gen, German occupation, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Peter Parker, London Blitz, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Not Canon Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post World War II, Running Away, Thunderstorms, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Nightmares, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, Tony is a writer, World War II, briefly, im sorry, kind of ooc, sorry its crucial to the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-06-09 17:44:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19480864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cold_nights_summer_days/pseuds/cold_nights_summer_days
Summary: This is an Irondad AU based on one of my favourite movies, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. If you havent seen it, you should totally watch it.----Tony's life is a mess after the war. No home, no family. No life. Outside of his writing, that is. But when he gets the chance to write a column for the New York Times, his life changes in a way he didn't think was possible anymore.





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I should be updating this story weekly, unless life gets in the way. Hopefully you enjoy this story as much as I did when I was writing it! Don't forget to leave comments and kudos, and follow me on instagram @cold.nights.summer.days (writing) or @its.the.end.of.the.line !! Or scream with me on tumblr @unfathomable-universe
> 
> Udpate: Sorry, but for some reason AO3 made half of the chapter italics when it wasn't supposed to be . . . I'm not even sure how it happened, but at least it's fixed now! I also forgot to mention that my update days should be on Thursdays.

The evacuation notice came in the late afternoon of 19 June 1940. Children of school age were to leave with their teachers the next day. Peter wasn’t supposed to overhear the conversation between his aunt and neighbor that occurred that night after the notice was posted, and he especially wasn’t supposed to run away afterwards.

But as usual with kids, they did a lot of things they weren’t supposed to do.

That was why at 19:30, Peter was hovering near the bottom of the wooden staircase. He couldn’t see the people that were talking in the room next to him, but he knew who they were. Aunt May, the person he lived with after his parents died, and Carol Danvers, the next-door neighbor his aunt was close with. They were discussing Peter. More specifically, the fact that he would be leaving for the continent bright and early the next morning.

“I know it would be selfish not to send him,” May whispered, trying to keep her voice down so Peter didn’t hear her. Little did she know. "I don’t want to be away from him. His parents died last year, and Ben joined up a few months ago. I have no idea how he would handle being shipped off to a new family on the mainland.”

It was quiet for a few moments and Peter guessed that Carol was trying to comfort his aunt or formulate a response. Or both at the same time. Peter wanted to give her a hug, after he heard her sniffle. But he remained on the stairs and strained to hear the rest of the conversation.

“It’s going to be hard to let him go. But you must, for his sake. If Mary and Richard were still here, they would do the same. It’s what’s best for Peter.” Carol replied eventually. Her voice was as soft as May’s but the words she spoke were purposeful.

“I know. Will you—," May had to pause and take a deep breath,"Will you come register him for evacuation with me? I don’t want to go alone. We can just tell him we’re going to the market; he’ll be fine on his own.”

“Of course, May. I’ll go let him know, okay? Then we can go before the line gets too long,”

Peter jogged back up the stairs to his bedroom at the end of the hall, feet light against the floor. A few seconds later Carol found him sitting, somewhat unnaturally, at his desk with the newest book by Tony Stark open in his hands. Carol pretended not to notice that he was slightly out of breath, or that his book was upside down, and told him that she and May were going to the market to pick a few things up. In turn, Peter pretended to believe her lie.

He held his breath until he heard the front door latch closed downstairs and May and Carol's voices faded. Peter didn’t want to go the continent, but he knew that May would send him whether he wanted to go or not. Even though she didn't want to send him. He cursed Carol under his breath for being so persuasive. Grabbing the new rucksack he had gotten the past Christmas out of the closet, he began to haphazardly throw clothes into it. Peter didn’t pay attention to what he tossed in there, and ended up with four shirts, seven socks, and zero pairs of pants. He also threw a small throw blanket in the bag for good measure. Lastly, he grabbed his book (The Avengers, Tony Stark’s newest novel) and gingerly placed it at the top of the bag.

_Well,_ Peter thought slyly, _she can’t send me away if she can’t find me._

Peter nearly forgot his shoes in his haste to leave the small cottage he called home. At first he wasn’t sure of where he was going, but his feet eventually carried him to a small alcove on the beach. Peter almost forgot that place existed; he hadn’t been there since his parents died. It was where his family went for picnics. After they passed it was simply too painful 

Now, standing there in the place he so loved to come to with his parents, those memories hit him full force. Peter could almost see the blue blanket his mother used for picnics laid out on the ground and his father's fishing pole buried in the sand just above the waterline. Tears pricked his eyes as he set the overstuffed backpack down in the sand. He didn’t normally let himself think about his parents, because it made him sad, which made his aunt sad, which made him even more sad. Peter hated making other people upset. 

Peter glanced at his surroundings, unsure of what to do. He hadn't planned past the word "Run." Aunt May told him never to go in the ocean when there wasn't an adult around, and while he just ran away, he wasn't about to throw all her rules out the window. There wasn't much else to do in the alcove except sit, so that's what Peter did. He pulled out his copy of _The Avengers_ and settled down in a cross-legged position. Peter forced himself to read slowly, savoring each word as it rolled across his tongue. Some of the words were foreign to him; the book was written for eighth to ninth years and he was only a fourth year. Most of what he read made sense to him, though. Ben had encouraged him to read after his parents died, teaching Peter to read better than his teachers did. 

He read until he could no longer make out the words on the pages. Then he started to wonder about his aunt. Did she register him for evacuation? Was May back home yet? Did she discover that he was gone? For a moment Peter felt guilty. He didn’t even leave a note to tell her he wasn't injured or kidnapped. 

After the sun went down the temperature dropped. Only a few degrees, but still enough to cause a chill. Peter pulled out the small blanket he had packed and wrapped it tightly around his shoulders. Maybe running away wasn’t such a good idea, he thought, trying to burrow deeper in to the soft, red fabric. Peter told himself it was only until after the ship left. Once the ship he was supposed to be on had left the harbor, he would go home. 

|\\\//| 

Carol found Peter curled up in a red blanket the next morning. Sand peppered his hair and Carol knew that it would take forever to get all of it out. She tossed his backpack onto her back before bending over and deftly lifting him into a bridal-style hold. Peter had an extremely small frame that made it easy to carry him when he fell asleep somewhere other than his bed. 

He didn’t wake up while Carol carried him home. He simply burrowed further into her shoulder when the birds began to sing. The walk to the Parker’s house didn’t take long, and before he knew it, Peter had been tucked into bed. 

May was downstairs at the dining table wearing a tired expression. She hadn’t been able to sleep at all during the night, even when Carol forced her to lay down while she looked for her nephew. It took her a moment to notice the blonde standing in the doorway. 

“He’s still asleep, and probably will be for a couple of hours. There’s still time to get him to the docks before the ship leaves,” Carol said. May buried her face in her hands and sighed. 

“I know I need to send him; I really do. But he’ll hate me if I do. He’ll hate me for the rest of his life.” 

“Maybe. You have to be honest, though. What’s better: Him hating you from England, safe from the Germans, or growing up under German occupation, always afraid of death and deportation?” May knew Carol only wanted what was best for Peter. Hell, she did too. Still, she hated the words that came from her friend’s mouth. Hated how true they were. Hated the Germans for being the reason she said them. 

“We’re all each other has left, Carol. I—I can’t do that to him,” 

May Parker would hate herself for that decision until the day she died. 


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter focuses more on Tony, yay!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming back! Technically I didnt lie, it is still Thursday . . . although at eleven thirty pm. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

Tony struggled to fit his key into the mailbox lock. Nightmares plagued him ever since the Blitz, every time he closed his eyes to rest, he was standing in his sixth street flat. It didn’t help that he also hadn’t had his morning coffee yet. He almost dropped the hefty stack of envelopes when he did manage to open the mailbox, just barely managing to hold onto them as he yanked his key back out. How many times did he have to tell the landlord that the keyholes kept getting stuck before it would finally be fixed? Probably at least five more times, Tony guessed. 

He ambled up three flights of creaky stairs to his flat at the end of the hall. His steps echoed through the stairwell, impossibly loud in the still morning air. When he finally made it inside his apartment, he tossed the mail onto his desk and sat down, moving the typewriter aside. It had been mocking him for months, the stack of blank paper beside it taunting him. His publisher ordered him to have the first three chapters done in a week and he didn’t even have an idea. 

Grabbing the letter opener from a tray of writing utensils on his desk, he got to work opening all the letters. Very few of them were from people he knew; most were from fans of his novels. Tony always tried to read his fan mail and send a reply if he had time. One letter caught his eye from the bottom of the pile. It wasn’t written on white paper like the rest. It was written on what appeared to be butcher’s paper. Tony reached for it, interest piqued, and began to read. 

Dear Mr. Stark. 

I read your book _The Avengers_ when it first came out in 1940. I remember when my aunt gave it to me. I had been talking about the release for months and the day the shipment of them arrived at my favorite bookstore, she took me to get it. It meant a lot because we were always tight on money after my uncle left for the RAF. Sorry, that’s not really the point. I just wanted to say thank you for writing that book, because it was probably the only thing that got me through the war. Your books helped me through some of the hardest things I had to live through the past five years, and even if you don’t end up reading this letter, I thought it was only appropriate to tell you how much you helped me. 

Sincerely,  
Peter Parker

The handwriting wasn’t the best, probably that of a student who had just entered secondary school. Tony wondered what this ‘Peter Parker’ was talking about. What had happened to him in the last five years? He checked the envelope for a return address to send a reply too. There was no address, but the postage stamp was marked for Guernsey. After a moment of thinking, Tony’s sleep-deprived brain made the connection. 

Guernsey. Last five years. The German occupation. Tony didn’t even know Peter Parker, but suddenly his heart ached for him. Handwriting like a secondary school student. Peter Parker was young. Tony read the letter again, and again. At first, he was slightly confused; weren’t children evacuated from the Channel Islands? He picked up a pen and wrote a reply.

Peter Parker,

I’m glad I was able to help, even though indirectly. Please excuse my bluntness, but were you in the Channel Islands during the occupation? It was my understanding that all children were evacuated with their schools to the English countryside. If so, what was it like?  
-Tony Stark

Tony wished he had more to say, but it seemed his writers block wasn’t only affecting his fiction. He rifled through his desk drawer to find an envelope to discover he had used his last one sending a reply to the London Writers Gala invitation sent to him by the editor of the London Times. Sighing, he wrote a reminder to pick up more envelopes today while he was out with Pepper. 

Speaking of Pepper, it was eight and he had to meet with her at nine to see a newly built apartment in downtown London. Pepper was his publisher and close friend; their mothers had gone to Cambridge university together and the pair had practically grown up together. Pepper, along with Rhodey, were the only two people Tony would listen to.  
\-----------------------------------------------

An hour later, Tony was standing in Pepper’s office impatiently waiting for her to be done with her phone call. He paced the room aimlessly and occasionally picked up knickknacks for closer inspection. Pepper had to whisper-yell at him several times for almost dropping something expensive. 

“Geez, Tony. You have the attention span of a second year,” Pepper laughed, putting the phone back on the receiver. Tony feigned insult as she quickly gathered her things. 

“I’m wounded, Pep, I really am. We both know I’m more like a reception student.” This statement earned Tony another smile. 

Before long they were walking to a freshly built neighborhood in Stepney. It wasn’t too far from the neighborhood Tony lived in before the Blitz or from the publishing office where he spend a lot of his time. That was the only reason Tony agreed to go see the new apartment even though he already knew he didn’t want to live there. Pepper told him there was no way he could say no to this one. He was going to prove her wrong. 

The apartment they were going to see was on the second floor and on the way up the realtor said, “You have first call on this place, so if you want it you have to act fast. Things go quickly nowadays.” Tony nodded disinterestedly and earned a smack from Pepper. All behind the realtor’s back, of course. 

“So are you two . . . ?” The realtor asked, turning back to look at them in the hallway before unlocking the front door. The pair laughed. Everyone always thought they were together.

“No, no. She’s my publis— “ Tony started, only to be cut off by Pepper’s quick interjection.

“—friend.”

The realtor mumbled something unintelligible and opened the door to reveal a spotless flat. The walls and trim were white, as was the doors. Even the floor was light enough to be considered white. Tony thought of it as too clinical; it looked like a hospital. Who on earth wanted to live in a hospital? He missed Pepper’s comment of, “Look, Tony, this is all new crystal. Isn’t it beautiful?” 

In fact, he wasn’t in the flat anymore. He was standing in a pile of rubble that used to be his home, the bricks that made up the walls of his life crumbled. The dust was still settling between the cracks and onto his shoes. There were others around him, shouting names and shifting debris to find loved ones or animals. Most came up empty.

The sound of rustling paper caught his ear and he glanced around, trying to find its source. He -saw loose papers flitting by his feet. Eventually, Tony would come to realize that was his original manuscript of the first book he had ever written, titled Iron Man. Eventually, he would feel grief over the loss of his first success. Right now, though, he felt nothing. Unlike everyone else, he had no loved ones to call out to, pets to search for. His entire livelihood was buried in stone he couldn’t even muster a single tear. 

Tony thought there must be wrong with him to feel so much nothing. Maybe it had been going on for weeks, or months, or even years. Maybe it had been there all along, shoved further aside with each word he wrote or sentence he committed to paper. Maybe this feeling of nothing had been there all along and all it took to set it loose was his neighborhood being decimated. 

As he stood there, he came to hate his life. He was a man who had everything and nothing. Every material thing he could want for but none of the emotional connection he longed for. 

“Tony—Tony are you okay?” Pepper said, shaking Tony from his thoughts. Tony shook his head and walked towards the door. 

“I can’t live here,” He said simply. Pepper protested, as he expected she would do. 

“Why not? It’s a proper home,”

“Yes, a proper home indeed. Just not mine.”  
\---------------------------------------------

Tony looked around the ballroom wistfully, wishing he could be at home in front of his typewriter. To be fair, even if he was sitting at his desk, he wouldn’t be doing anything. Writer’s block still had its sharp teeth sunk in his imagination. The most he had written all week was a crappy letter to a kid he didn’t even have an address for. That he still hadn’t mailed. 

He swore he would pick up an envelope from the office on his way home and mail the letter first thing in the morning. That was the same thing he had promised himself the last two days, but his lack of sleep made him forget. 

When a waiter passed by, tray of champagne in hand, Tony forced himself to look away. He was currently eight years sober and he was not going to throw it away over a boring gala. Although when he saw Obadiah Stane heading his direction, he seriously began considering an escape to the open bar. 

“Hey, Tony! How’ve you been?” Obadiah asked. Tony knew he didn’t care one bit what his answer was, despite his cheery façade.

“Swell. My new book— _Civil War_ —reached first on the bestseller list last week.” Tony answered. He allowed himself one smug smile. Obadiah had been his mentor when he first began writing. Now Tony was doing better than him—over eight bestsellers to Stane’s four— and was working on a new novel. 

“Great. Already start your next piece?” 

“Yes. Its going to be great,” Tony lied easily. Obadiah’s expression became tight. _If I annoy him enough, he’ll go away_ , he thought. 

“I heard _Ten Rings_ made the top one hundred books list this year. How are things going with that?” 

No reply. Though his smile was obviously forced. Tony bet that if he kept going, Stane would pull a muscle trying to keep up appearances. 

“Personally, I wouldn’t have chosen to write from the villain’s point of view. Don’t get me wrong, its an interesting perspective. But isn’t the point of a superhero novel giving the readers someone to route for?" 

“Have to shake things up sometimes, don’t we? Nobody wants to read the same thing repeatedly,” 

“You would be surprised,” Tony said. As the words left his mouth, he spotted Pepper across the room, schmoozing a writer who was currently between publishers. Rumor was that her publisher had tried to take credit for her newest novel and gotten himself kicked to the curb.

“Excuse me, but I see someone I’ve been meaning to speak with.” He said, quickly shouldering past his old mentor and made a beeline for Pepper. She was the only one here he could stand to converse with. Also, he saw Nick Fury, a publisher who had been trying to poach him for years. 

Pepper brushed him aside when he stopped next to her, determined to add Michelle Jones to her repertoire of talented authors. Tony waited impatiently for her to finish her pitch. He turned his gaze to the ceiling of the ostentatious ballroom. It was painted with intricate designs of golden vines and flowers. The chandeliers looked freshly polished and counting the crystals kept Tony entertained until Pepper was finished with her conversation. Once Michelle was gone, she turned to face him. 

“Sorry, but I was not going to let a chance to sign Michelle Jones. We could use more talent like her to our name.” She said, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. Tony pretended to take offense.

“Am I not enough talent for you?”

“Have you written any new chapters?”

“. . . No?” 

“Is that a question?” 

“. . . No.”

“Then no. I need writers who write.”

Tony sighed, looking towards the dance floor. “Dance with me?” He asked. He didn’t want to think about his writer’s block, or the letter, or anything else. Pepper nodded and placed her empty glass on a nearby table. They danced a few songs together before the musicians broke to allow an announcement that the award ceremony was getting ready to begin. The pair found seats near the front of the room because Tony was set to accept an award and he hated the feeling of peoples’ eyes on him as he walked. It unnerved him. 

Tony accepted an award for _London Times_ Best Author, which was voted on by readers. The award made him excited. Validation was an important part of writing and it also reminded him of the letter. _Your books got me through some of the hardest things I had to live through the past five years._  
\-------------------------------------------------

Tony tapped his foot impatiently. He had been standing in the post office line for what felt like forever gripping the short letter in his hand. Could you even send a letter that didn’t have a full address? Well, he was going to find out. 

When he finally got to the front of the line and the clerk asked what to write down the address he simply said, “Guernsey.” The clerk looked at him with confusion.

“Guernsey? Do you have an actual address?” She asked. Tony shook his head. With a sigh, she wrote “Guernsey” in the address spot and added postage before throwing it in the outgoing mail bin. 

“No promises it will get there. It will probably end up at the St. Peter Port office because that’s where the ship drops stuff off. If you get lucky, someone there will know who Peter Parker is.” The clerk said as Tony paid for postage. He crossed his fingers that the letter would find its intended recipient. 

After his not so quick trip to the post office, Tony had to go to the office. Pepper said she had a big opportunity for him, something about the _New York Times._ Tony always wanted to write an article for the _Times_ to gain more of a reputation in America, but he wasn’t sure now was the time. With his current utter lack of imagination anything he wrote would not be _Times_ worthy. 

Surprisingly, when he got there Pepper wasn’t in a meeting. She was always in one meeting or another, and when she wasn’t doing that, she was reading new manuscripts. Tony wondered how she had a life outside of work, if she even did. He couldn’t judge, however, because he didn’t have one outside of writing. 

He had started writing eight years ago, after his mom died in an accident. It gave him an outlet for his grief besides alcohol. Before he knew it, he had a bestseller and a fanbase. Tony had Pepper to thank for that. She forced him to get sober and start a career, picking up his novel when no other publisher would. Everyone else had said the world wasn’t ready for a superhero novel because those were just for kids, but he proved them wrong. Very, very wrong. 

“You will never believe who called me this morning,” Pepper said, smiling as Tony walked over the chair in front of her desk. 

“Who?” Tony played along. 

“The _New York Times_. I’ve been pulling strings for months, and they want you to write an article.” 

“I can’t write anything right now, Pep. I haven’t been able to string two of the simplest sentences together for weeks.”

“I know,” Her voice was soft but strong. “But this is nonfiction. I think it would really help. Besides, I already said yes.” Tony groaned. He knew Pepper was just trying to help, but he didn’t want to ruin his first article for the American audience. If he did that, it would be his first and his last. 

“It’s about reading. The editor said he wants to do a three-piece set about how reading can affect people. I think this will be good for you.”

“Okay. Ill try to come up with something,” Tony sighed. He was almost certain that he would come up with nothing. He didn’t stay long after that—just long enough for a cup of coffee—before leaving. Maybe he should do the article on the letter he received a few days ago. The only issue is that he would need more information to go from; quotes from interviews, statistics. 

There was nothing to do but wait for a reply. If he had any luck, he would get the article done before his book tour started in two weeks.  
\------------------------------------------------

Four days later, not that Tony was counting, he received another letter. This time it had a return address listed as “2509 St. Smith Street, St. Peter Port, Guernsey”. He didn’t even take the time to go upstairs to open it, opting to read it in the lobby. As he pulled the letter out of the envelope, he was disappointed, seeing his own letter in it. But when he flipped the paper over, he saw the same messy scrawl from last time. 

Dear Tony Stark,

I apologize for having to use the letter you sent, but paper is still scarce around here. To answer your question, yes. Most of the children were evacuated from the Channel Islands. I didn’t leave. I was eight when the Luftwaffe landed at the airstrip. 

_Dear god,_ Tony thought, _this kid is only fourteen._

The occupation was rough, to say the least. Things started out okay, but then they took all the animals on the island to feed their own soldiers and forced us to grow things like potatoes. They made us use Reichsmarks instead of pounds. They even switched what side of the road we had to drive on! That was only relevant for a few months though, because then the allotted fuel ration wasn’t enough to drive anywhere with. 

Sometimes things felt hopeless, like the Germans had snuffed out the light at the end of the tunnel and left us in eternal darkness. Those were the times I read your books the most. I had to keep them hidden under a loose floorboard in the basement. They didn’t like it when we had books unless they were published by an approved author. Books make you think, and they certainly didn’t want us to do that. 

_This kid hid my books in his basement?_

Speaking of which, we even made a book club during the occupation. Lied and said we were trying to appropriate ourselves with German customs to keep a roast pig secret from the Germans. I was the one who picked the name. Never was good at keeping my mouth shut, so when the officer asked what we were doing I blurted, “We’re the Shield Literary Society. You guys always say we need to learn about your customs, so that’s what we’re doing.” I earned a sharp slap to the face for that one. After that we had to keep meeting so that we weren’t suspicious. 

Sincerely, 

Peter Parker

Tony ran up the stairs and nearly slammed the door behind him when he got inside his apartment. He quickly wrote a reply.

Peter Parker, 

Don’t worry about reusing paper, I understand your predicament. While you have answered my questions, I’m afraid you have also given me more. Why did you have to keep a roast pig a secret from the Germans? Does your book club still meet? If so, when? 

Take care,

Tony Stark

Tony made sure to put a few extra pieces of paper in the envelope, as well as postage, before sealing it. That way the kid wouldn’t have to spend his own money to send letters and not worry about not having anything to write on. The next letter he received thanked him for his efforts as well as informing him that the club still met on Fridays and that Tony was welcome to come to the next meeting if he wanted to. Tony wasted no time in telling Pepper that he would be leaving for Guernsey Friday morning on the eleven o’clock ferry. Pepper tried to argue. 

“Tony, you can’t go. You have a book tour starting next week.” She said, organizing papers on her desk. 

“Please, Pep. I’ll be back Monday,” Tony pleaded. He had to go; for the article and for his curiosity. 

“You’re supposed to be in Edinburgh on Monday!”

“Not until five. I’ll be back before then. Promise.”

“Fine,” Pepper relented. Tony shouted a quick thank you, already out the door. Thursday he took a train to Portsmouth. On Friday, he left for Guernsey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed! Scream with me on Tumblr at unfathomable-universe or Instagram @cold.nights.summer.days ! See you guys next Thursday, lovelies!


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony arrives in Guernsey and meets the society!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I'm late (its currently 3 am on a Friday and I woke up because I had a dream that I forgot to post it and woke up to do it . . . ). This chapter hasn't been heavily edited, but has had a quick skim through. I hate this chapter for so many reasons, but I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> P.S. I'm on vacation this week and still have to write the next chapter, so I may not be able to post next Thursday :(

Tony could see Guernsey in the distance. The island was almost hidden over the horizon, the sharp cliffs hazy. He guessed they were still an hour or two out from St. Peter Port. The thought made the writer restless. There wasn’t much to occupy his time; the waves were rough today, making it impossible to write neat enough to read later. So, all Tony could do was sit and wait and watch the waves roll by. 

The town of St. Peter Port could only be described as dreary. Though Tony guessed that was to be expected. It had been barely five months since the Channel Islands were liberated from the Germans. Before the war, vacationers described the small town as bustling and lively. Right now, there were only a few lorries lined up on the dock, and even fewer people accompanying them. Some buildings looked newly rebuilt while their neighbors were in complete disrepair. 

The sight made Tony sad, for lack of a better word. He felt for these people, for their hardships, even though he only experienced a fraction of what they did. Seeing the port made his heart ache for Peter Parker a hundred times more. If this is what it looks like after they left he hated to think what it was like to grow up while they were here.

After the ferry docked Tony was almost the first person off. There weren’t many people travelling to Guernsey that day, and most of the people who were seemed to be people returning home. If their excitement and heavy amount of luggage was anything to go off. Tony pulled out the map of Guernsey he had purchased before leaving on Thursday. It said there was only one hotel in St. Peter Port called the Crown, so that’s where he headed next, walking carefully to avoid tripping on the uneven cobblestones. 

Turning onto the road the Crown was located on, Tony was shocked to see it had no roof. A couple of workers climbed between several layers of scaffolding attached to the side of the hotel, passing tiles between each other. After a few seconds of internal debating he decided he was going to call up and ask where he should go. This thought was quickly forgotten when some of the tiles slipped from a stack on the third level and crashed near his feet.

“Sorry!” Called down a voice. Tony looked up in time to see several more fall and break. The voice belonged to a skinny blond. Tony never would have guessed that based on the guy’s deep voice. 

“No need to apologize, accidents happen,” Tony said, laughing it off. “I was wondering though; is there somewhere I can stay? I mean, since this isn’t going to work out.”

“You can go to the post office and ask. I’m sure Mr. Ramsey will know of a place you can stay.” The blond replied. Tony quickly thanked him and followed the road signs to the post office. A bell rang when he opened the door, announcing his presence to all of four people; one perusing greeting card options, two boys standing behind the counter, and an older gentleman in an office in the back. The post office was almost as dreary as the rest of what Tony had seen so far. Dust settled in the corners and most shelves were empty of the stock they used to hold. 

Peter did say paper was in short supply after the occupation. What a bad time to work for a post office, huh?

“Hello, sir. What do you need help with today?” One of the boys behind the counter asked boy was shorter than his counterpart by several inches, had unruly dirty blond hair, and was wearing glasses that were taped several times over the bridge. 

“I need a place to stay, since the Crown seems to be under construction.” Tony answered, barely getting the words out before the second boy shouted (by now he had moved to a back room), “Peter, it’s your turn to deliver today. I’ve done it all week.”

Peter quickly called back, “Okay!” before apologizing to Tony for the commotion. Tony, however, wasn’t completely listening. Peter. Peter Parker?

“No, no, its okay. Are you by any chance Peter Parker?” Peter looked confused but nodded his head anyway.

“Tony Stark. I’m here for the meeting tonight.” Tony said, extending his hand across the counter for Peter to shake it. Peter did so, admittedly a bit dazed. It didn’t matter, though. Tony was used to it.

“Oh, um, Mr. Stark its such an honor to meet you! I wasn’t sure you were actually going to come—not that I thought you were lying; I don’t think you’re a liar— it’s just that usually—” 

“Peter, your embarrassing yourself.” Boy #2 said, now back up front with Peter. This time he was holding a box full of envelopes and Tony guessed it was what Peter had to deliver. Peter blushed lightly and ran a hand through his already unruly hair, mussing it up even more.

“He’s fine. Plenty of people do much worse. Just call me Tony, though. Mr. Stark is much to formal.”

“Don’t count on it. Peter is bad with first names. Insists on using proper names.” 

“It’s respectful, Harley. Maybe you should try it sometime,” Peter mumbled. Harley rolled his eyes. 

“See? He always tries to get me to do it too.”

“That’s not such a bad thing. Kids in London could stand to learn some tricks from you, Peter.” Tony said. Peter gave Harley an indignant glare. 

“Oh, and you can stay with Ms. Stimple. She’s kind of mean, but her price is fair. I can take you up there,” Peter said, remembering what Tony walked in for. Peter called a quick goodbye to Mr. Ramsey (the man Tony guessed ran the post office) and ran out the door. Not two seconds later he ran back in the grab the mail and ran back out. Harley snorted and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “idiot”. 

“He’s got a bad case of hero worship. Try not to let him down.” Harley said, giving Tony a pointed look. This kid was less than half his age and trying to intimidate him. Tony decided to play along.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The road they were on curved along the edge of a dangerously steep cliff. The view would have been amazing if Tony wasn’t so afraid of falling off the side. The ocean below didn’t look inviting in the slightest. 

Tony didn’t have much time to think about falling off the cliff, though, because Peter kept him busy with question after question. Questions about London, questions about his writing, questions about what had happened elsewhere during the occupation. Tony tried to field them all, but some he simply couldn’t answer. Or, didn’t know how to answer. Most of the time he didn’t have to worry: the kid’s thoughts moved so quick that he had already asked another question by the time Tony could formulate a response. 

Tony would have never guessed that Peter was in Guernsey during the occupation. The kid was so energetic and high-spirited. Harley was right. Peter did have a bad case of hero worship. 

“Sorry I’m asking so many questions. Its just so hard to get news around here even though the Germans left back in May. Nobody who comes back wants to talk about what happened elsewhere. Honestly, it seems like most of them want to pretend that nothing happened. That they’re just coming back from an extended vacation or something.” Peter apologized. They were nearing Ms. Stimple’s house. Tony was not excited to get there; Peter had told him plenty about how mean she was. He could deal, though, because he was only here for three days. 

He had three days to gather enough information to author an article for the New York Times. Should be easy, right? Tony could do this. Writer’s block and book tour be damned, he could do this. 

“It’s easier to pretend nothings changed when your entire world gets turned upside down, especially after something like the war.” Tony answered. “Not that that excuses it, of course. In a few years it will be all anyone talks about.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” Peter said, immediately regretting it and trying to backtrack. Tony could see his face go red. “I don’t mean to overstep. Its none of my business.”

“Its okay. And yes—I do speak from experience.” Tony left it at that for two reasons: he didn’t want to get into his war stories with an innocent fourteen-year-old kid and he didn’t want to relive the event that had been giving him nightmares for years. Peter accepted his short reply without question. He knew a sensitive topic when he saw one. 

The rest of the ride to Ms. Stimple’s house was oddly quiet. Now that the kid had stopped talking, Tony suddenly felt very awkward. He didn’t say anything though. He had no idea what to talk to a fourteen-year-old about. This trip to Guernsey was beginning to feel less like a good idea and more like an impulsive decision. Tony couldn’t write the article without the society’s consent, which he currently didn’t have. If they didn’t give it to him tonight this would be a wasted endeavor that Pepper would no doubt scold him about. 

When they pulled up to Ms. Stimple’s house Peter insisted on helping Tony with his luggage despite Tony saying he was fine. 

“It’s the proper thing to do, Mr. Stark,” Peter said. Tony laughed to himself. None of the kids in London were this respectful, not even to their parents. With a quick reminder that the society’s meeting was at seven (giving Tony an hour and a half to settle in and unpack), Peter left to finish his route and return to the post office. 

It only took five minutes to decide that he didn’t like Ms. Stimple. She had a stuck-up attitude that matched her facial expression: she always looked as if she had stepped in something most unpleasant. Just after Tony introduced himself, she told him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t like his books. On the way up to the bedroom she informed him that she locked her door at ten p.m. sharp and if he wasn’t back by then that she would lock him out. 

Tony desperately wished the Crown had a functioning roof. Nonetheless, he carried his things upstairs and unpacked. Not that he had much to unpack; just enough to wear for the next three days and his writing supplies. The room had a desk in the corner that he could use, for which he was thankful for, though it was much smaller than the one he was used to using. The bed, a queen, took precedence in the middle of the room with two end tables on either side. A bible was very clearly laid out for him on one of them. Apparently Ms. Stimple didn’t think her lectures (of which Tony would receive many) would be enough to “save” him. 

Yeah, staying with Ms. Stimple was not going to be fun. At least it was only for three days. Today, Saturday, and Sunday. Tony could handle her for three days, easy. 

It wasn’t until six thirty—half an hour before he had to be at the meeting—that he had no clue where he was going. He had the address (4401 Peppertree road) but no idea of where Peppertree Road was. The last thing Tony wanted to do was talk to Ms. Stimple, though it seemed he was going to have to if he wanted to make it to the meeting that night.

When Tony went downstairs she was sitting at the dining table, saving him from having to look for her. He sighed before asking if she knew where Peppertree road was.

“Are you going to the book club meeting?” She questioned as she set her needlepoint down. _What a boring hobby,_ Tony thought. 

“How did you—” 

“I heard that boy tell you what time it was at. I was hoping you would forget; it’s best you don’t spend time with that lot.”

“Excuse me?”

“They keep secrets, all of them. There’s a reason Peter lives with that redheaded girl. Every single one of them is trouble.”

“If you won’t tell me where it is, I’ll go find someone who will.” Tony was growing tired of this conversation. If this is how Ms. Stimple wanted to be then he would find someone else to speak with. 

“It’s a twenty-minute walk from here. If you go up to where the road forks and turn left it’ll take you there.” She relented. Tony rolled his eyes when she turned back to her needlepoint and left. He purposely didn’t shut the door behind him.

“So, what have you guys been reading lately?” Tony asked, looking around the room full of people. Peter sat to his right and a redheaded girl introduced as Natasha sat to his left. Tony was never good with names and only remembered Natasha’s because Peter had mentioned her before. The other four people in the room were a scraggly blond man who seemed constantly angry, a dangerous looking brunette with bright red lipstick, a woman with shoulder length blonde hair, and a dark-skinned man with an “I don’t take bullshit” attitude. If Tony was being honest, the lot of them scared him. Every single person in that room looked like they could kill him in thirty seconds or less.

“We actually thought you would read something from one of your books.” The dangerous brunette—Peggy—said. Peter jumped up from his chair and ran upstairs shouting, “I have your newest one, it just came in the mail today!”

Two minutes of awkward silence passed until Peter ran back down the stairs with a fresh copy of _Avengers: Civil War_ clutched in his hands. It was mostly awkward because everyone stared at Tony whilst he forced himself not to shift under their gaze. He almost sighed in relief when Peter walked back in the room. 

“I haven’t gotten a chance to read it yet, so you can start at the beginning,” Peter handed Tony the book with an excited smile and may as well have been bouncing in his chair when he sat down. Yeah, a bad case of hero worship for sure. Tony cleared his throat and opened the book. He hated book readings for the same reason he hated accepting awards. Also, every time he reread his writing, he saw things he could have done better.

Tony read for nearly thirty minutes, which was longer than he normally would have at one of his scheduled press events. By the end, most of the people weren’t staring at him like he was evil. They did have opinions on his book, as was to be expected. 

“Why didn’t they talk it out instead of fighting?” Steve asked. He still looked slightly angry, but Tony guessed that was just his disposition. The dark-skinned man ( _Sam,_ Tony reminded himself, _his name is Sam_ ) snorted.

“That’s rich coming from you, man.” He said. This earned a glare from Steve and a hearty laugh from the rest of the circle. Tony laughed too, all though that may have put him at the top of Steve’s hitlist. Well, second. Sam was at the top.

“Really though. It would have been smarter to talk it out.” 

“But then there wouldn’t be a novel.” Natasha pointed out. “And that would not be good for Tony’s career.” That was the other thing about this group. They all referred to each other’s first names. It made things easier, somehow. 

“I’m sure Mr. Stark’s got a master plan or something. Why else would infinity stones keep coming up?” Peter told them. Tony laughed. Peter probably had dozens of theories on where Tony was going to go with the series that he would love to hear sometime. 

“Yes, _Mr. Stark_ , what is your master plan?” Natasha smirked. It was obvious she was only teasing Peter, but Tony still answered anyway. 

“Oh yes, but an author never gives up his secrets.”

“I thought that only applied to magicians.”

“Authors are like magicians, though. They come up with whole universes and plots. That sounds pretty magical to me.” Peter argued. 

“Peter, you only say that because you want to be a writer.” Now it was Sam’s turn to tease Peter. Tony could tell it was all in good fun, even if Peter blushed at the last comment. 

“You want to be an author?” Tony asked, turning towards Peter. Peter nodded his head but didn’t offer anything else. He would have left it, but Steve urged him to share why. 

“Because—um—because you inspired me. I thought, well I still think this, but I think its so cool how you can spin stories out of thin air. I’m probably not good enough to anyway—”

“Don’t sell yourself short. We all read the story you wrote just last week.” Peggy said, giving Peter a pointed look. “Don’t listen to him, Tony. He only thinks its bad because he wrote it.”

“I’d love to read it, if you don’t mind. Besides, Pepper’s always looking for new talent.”

“Oh, I don’t know. . .” Peter mumbled and ran a hand through his already messy curls. It was nerve-racking to think about your inspiration reading your work, let alone having them do it.

“No pressure, but the offer is there.” Tony smiled. It made him feel warm and fuzzy inside to know he inspired Peter. These people, though seemingly cold at first, made him feel more at home than he had in years. That was why he felt comfortable enough to mention the article he was supposed to write. When he said he wanted to write about them, the atmosphere changed dramatically. 

“You can’t write about us.” Steve said sharply. 

“You guys, this society, it’s the perfect subject—” 

“You can’t write about us. Now if you’ll excuse us, I think the meeting is over. Its late and most of us have to walk home.”

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries. I just thought that—”

“Well, Mr. Stark, your apologies are wasted. We aren’t interested.” 

Tony stood up as everyone watched him. Steve’s use of his formal name stung because it made it clear that he wasn’t welcome anymore. He left quickly, careful not to slam the door behind him too hard. He wasn’t mad at Steve, or the society. This was his own fault. Thinking they would be excited about Tony sharing their story with the world. 

Gravel crunched under Tony’s feet as he made his way back to Ms. Stimple’s in the dark. The trees swayed in the night breeze, the rustling leaves giving Tony something to focus on other than his thoughts. He walked with his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets to stave off the chilly October air. 

“Hey, Mr. Stark, hold up for a second.” Someone called from behind him. The writer turned to see who it was but could only make out a silhouette in the darkness. They were jogging towards him.

_Please don’t be a murderer, please don’t be a murderer, please don’t be a murderer._

Tony couldn’t make out who it was until they were practically in his face. It was Sam who came chasing after him in the dark.

“Look, Sam, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked about the article.” Tony said. Sam shook his head.

“No, you shouldn’t have. But we didn’t say no because we don’t like you. You must understand that everyone on this island has been through a lot, but especially Peter and Natasha. Steve as well.”

“What kind of stuff?” The journalist in Tony plowed forwards, asking the first question that popped into his head. 

“I can’t tell you that. Maybe they will, if you come around again. But anyway, I thought you deserved to know.” 

“Thank you, Sam.” Tony said sincerely. Not that he didn’t know everyone on Guernsey had been through a lot, but it made him feel better that at least one of them wasn’t mad at him.

When Tony finally got back to Ms. Stimple’s, she wasn’t pleased with him either. She complained that it was ten thirty and one of her rules was to be home by ten. Instead of arguing with her like he wanted to, he apologized and bid her a good night. He had a new plan. He wanted to know what happened to these people and he would research, interview, and speculate until he got the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave kudos and comments if you're enjoying this story! Scream with me on tumblr @unfathomable-universe or on Instagram @cold.nights.summer.days for updates on my posting schedule, new stories, etc. Have a good day, lovelies!


	4. AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hey guys! I'm sorry this isn't a real chapter :( I wasn't able to finish this chapter because I am on vacation. I will definitely be updating next week, and I feel so horrible for not providing a chapter this week. In the meantime, check out my other work or see me on Instagram @cold.nights.summer.days or on Tumblr @unfathomable-universe .


	5. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things . . . happen . . . I guess . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is two weeks late . . . and it's still not very good. I've been struggling with this chapter for over a month and it's still choppy, but I hope you guys sort of like it at least. I'll be back to rewrite it later, but I think I just need to move on from it for now. Sad stuff aside though, I hope you guys are doing well! I've been enjoying your comments so much (just ask my best friend, I text her when I get them screaming . . .)

“I think it’s actually pretty neat that you want to write an article about us.” Peter said, kicking at the sand. Him and Tony were at one of Guernsey’s famous beaches right now, though they were clearly a shell of their former selves. The sand was uneven where the tank traps had been removed and there were ditches where mines were dugout. Dozens of posted signs warned people of the remaining ones, but Peter assured Tony that most had been dug up carefully disposed of.

Most. Peter was so casual about this that Tony wondered how dreadful things had truly been. How bad did things have to be for teenagers to treat mines like an inconvenience than a danger?

“You seem to be the only one,” Tony wondered how he was going to tell Pepper he made her postpone his tour for an article he was now unable to write. To be fair, he did tell her not to accept the offer. He decided to wait. The longer she thought he was writing, the longer he could stay here, which meant he had more time to get to the bottom of this story.

Peter and Natasha clearly weren’t related, at least not closely. Where Natasha had bold hair, light eyes, and sharp facial features, Peter had none of those things. The only thing they shared was their small stature, and even then, Peter had broader shoulders than she did. So, assuming Natasha and Peter weren’t related, why did she take care of him? Peter hadn’t mentioned anything about his parents in the letters they had exchanged. Maybe Natasha adopted him.

“See those up there?” Peter asked, pointing to a concrete structure on a cliff. The structure was simple yet still loomed over the beach. Tony nodded as Peter explained further. “Those are what they used to watch the beach and the water. They used to have machine guns mounted there—you can see the hole they shot through—and you can see miles out to sea from there.”

“Did they ever get used?”

“They always had people stationed there, of course, with how close we are to Britain, but no shots were fired. The Allies never came here. That’s why they’re in such good condition.” Peter sounded bitter when he said the Allies never came. It must have been hard to watch the Allies bypass them on their way to Normandy.

“The Todt workers built them, mostly. Sometimes the Germans would hire people around the island to work, but there weren’t a lot of us.”

“Were you ever allowed to speak to any of them?”

“Only when the Germans weren’t looking. We didn’t get punished for speaking to them, but they did. It stopped a lot of people from helping, aside from the fact that most didn’t have much to spare.”

More questions were exchanged as the two wandered down the beach. Tony carefully kept watch for anything that could possibly explode. He didn’t carry the same nonchalance about the mines as Peter did. Eventually though, near the end of the beach, Peter stopped walking. He simply stared at the small cove ahead of them with a faraway look in his eyes. Tony watched him warily. In the few days since the meeting he had gotten to know Peter better, but not enough to know why this place held significant meaning, or why he was looking at it with regret. Soon after it started, though, the moment passed and Peter was back to his usual chatty self.

The next day Peter showed him his house. Not the one he lived in now, of course. Peter said this was where he lived before his parents passed away. The house was in desperate need of some TLC, the broken windows and overgrown grass attested to the war it had just come through.

“Sometimes the door gets stuck . . . It’s been awhile since I was here last,” Peter was trying to jimmy the door open. When that didn’t work, he tried pushing against it with his shoulder, but with his small stature, the door didn’t even budge. “We can try the back.”

Tony followed Peter around the side of the house, purposely ignoring what looked like bullet holes around shattered window frames. The grass was tall and scraggly in the sandy soil. The house was close to the edge of a cliff, and Tony could just make out what appeared to be a path that headed down to the shore. He couldn’t be sure until he’d seen it up close, but there wasn’t much else out here the path could lead to.

The back door opened on the first try. It led them into a small kitchen where dust had settled onto every available surface. Peter apologized for the mess as if it was his fault instead of time’s. A draft blew through the broken windows while Peter showed Tony around.

“I thought you might like to see it because of your research. The Germans went around taking property after they showed up, looking for places to stay.”

The living room was strewn with German war memorabilia. Green uniform jackets rested on chairs, arranged in such a way that suggested the owner assumed they would be back to clean it up later. A pair of boots by the door. News leaflets printed with the Reich symbol. Everything a soldier would need in a foreign land from necessities to comfort objects were left around the house.

Upstairs there were sleeping bags laid out haphazardly in each of the three bedrooms. The red room, Peter explained, had been his once upon a time. The faraway look in Peter’s eyes told Tony that he missed that time. A time when he had been younger, hadn’t had to worry about things like what he was going to eat or how to avoid soldiers on his way to school.

Later he learned that that time was when his parents were alive. Peter had been seven at the time they died in a ferry accident crossing the channel. That was the reason he hid on evacuation day. Peter had been afraid that the boat would sink and May (who Tony was later told was the kid’s aunt) would be left alone.

“My uncle volunteered for the Royal Air Force earlier in the year. We stopped receiving letters in April. I couldn’t leave her all alone, you know? My parents taught me that you should always be there for family, and I knew I couldn’t leave.” Peter said. Now they walked along the dirt road that led to town. Peter had things to do at the post office and Tony needed an excuse to avoid Ms. Stimple. It was a win-win situation. Birds chirped happily in the trees as they walked, unaware of the less than chipper conversation the two were sharing.

“That’s very brave, Peter.”

“I wasn’t trying to be brave, I was trying to do the right thing.”

“That’s what makes it brave. If we were always trying to be brave, to look strong to everyone else, then it wouldn’t be bravery. It would be lying.”

“How so, Mr. Stark?”

“Because it would be hiding who you are. Not everyone is brave, and that’s quite alright. But trying to be someone you’re not so that people think you are isn’t brave at all.”

“It didn’t matter anyway. Two years later she was gone. They deported her like they did everyone else.”

Tony stopped for a second before speaking, trying to figure out how to answer to that. In the end he changed the topic to what Peter’s plans for the day were. Peter did not mind, finding the change in subject refreshing. When the time came for the pair to part ways, Peter asked if he would be seeing Tony again. Tony said yes, knowing that even though he was scheduled to leave tonight, his work on Guernsey had only just started.  
||||||||||||||||  
The post office was quiet on Tuesday. Peter was elsewhere, as was Harley. Out on errands, Tony presumed. His footsteps echoed throughout the small building as he walked towards the back corner where the phone was. There were a million things he would rather be doing right now than calling Pepper, but he was supposed to be home yesterday and didn’t want her to worry about him any more than she already did.

“Tony. We were about to call you,” Pepper said curtly. Tony frowned at the wall.  
“We?” He asked, wondering who would be there with her. Rhodey perhaps? That might work out in his favor, seeing as he already had to call him as well.

_“It’s me, Tones. You were supposed to be back yesterday.”_

“Sorry about that, Platypus, but you know how business trips go. They always take longer than they’re supposed to.

_“You should have called. I was worried sick and had to cancel all of the events you had planned for today!”_

“I didn’t plan anything—”

_“—that’s not the point. I had a lot of angry people calling me this morning asking why you weren’t there.”_

“I can’t leave now, there’s still so much to learn about the occupation, especially about the society.” Tony lowered his voice to a whisper at the end despite the empty room. It felt wrong to be talking about them like a subject, something only to be studied.

_“Do it over the phone, or through letters. You need to come back.”_

“You know it doesn’t work like that, Pep. I have to be here.”

Pepper sighed and rolled her eyes even though Tony couldn’t see it. Rhodey was almost as displeased as she was at the new turn of events, though not for the same reasons. He was more worried about what Pepper would do when Tony finally did come home.

“And since you’re there, Rhodey, I have a favor I need to ask.”

_“What is it?”_

“I need you to find a woman named May Parker. She was sent off island during the occupation. I don’t know when, or to where.”

_“That’s a tall order.”_

“It’s not just about me. She was important to these people. Peter, the one who sent me the letter, is her nephew. From the sound of it, she’s the only blood relative he has left.”

Rhodey was silent for a moment, deciding if this was worth doing. There had to be dozens of May Parker’s in Europe, and it was notoriously difficult to find information on people the Germans deported. Most evidence of who those people were was destroyed at the end of the war or never existed in the first place.

“Please,” Tony pleaded, voice sincere. He knew what it felt like to not have a family, to feel alone, and he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy, let alone Peter. Peter, who was sweet and kind despite the shitty hand life dealt him. Peter, who was respectful and compassionate to people he had never met before. Peter, who was a saint caught in a war of sinners.

Life had taken a lot of things from Peter Parker; his parents, his uncle, his childhood. Tony wouldn’t let it take anything else.

 _“I’ll find her.”_ Rhodey said. After that, Tony hung up the call and left the proper amount of money on the counter, bidding adieu to the shopkeeper before wandering out onto the busy Tuesday afternoon streets of St. Peter Port.  
|||||||||||||||||||||

It was becoming annoying to carry around a stack of research everywhere he went, so on Friday Tony decided to go to the St. Peter Port market. He had seen it when he first arrived but hadn’t had any time to stop. Now he was hoping to find something to hold his many notebooks and loose papers.

The market was busy enough, though not as bad as one in London may have been. A lot of the people who left Guernsey were still making their way back, leaving the town a shell of its former self. Tony didn’t mind though. He wasn’t a people person, and the less people bumping into him the better.

“Ah, Mr. Stark. Just the man I was looking for,” Natasha said, appearing from seemingly nowhere. She pretended to look at the fresh produce on the table in front of them while she waited for a response. Tony, meanwhile, was trying to form an eloquent response. Did he ask why first, or did he apologize again? In the end he went with the former.

“I actually wasn’t looking for you, but since were both here I figured I should thank you for keeping Peter occupied this past week. His best friend is still off island right now, and I don’t think I’ve seen him this excited since May. Its hard waiting for people to come back, but having his idol here helps.” Tony didn’t know how to respond. Feelings weren’t exactly his thing, and this included them. 

“Idol is a strong word.” The word scared him a little. Who would pick him, an emotionally unavailable, stubborn, and anxiety ridden person, as their idol? Natasha picked up on his train of thought despite him desperately trying to keep his face nonchalant. Tony thought she must have been a spy in a past life for how observant and sneaky she could be.

“Maybe, but it’s an accurate one. You don’t seem to think much of yourself, but Peter thinks the world of you. You should have heard him when got a letter back from you. Don’t tell him I said this, but when I came in from work, I could have sworn he was bouncing off the walls. When you said you were coming out here, I think he nearly fainted.”

Tony couldn’t help but smile. He was starting to have a soft spot for Peter. He was spared from responding when Natasha told him she had to go. Tony bid her a good afternoon and turned to leave before she stopped him.

“I’ll be seeing you tonight, wont I?” She asked, quirking her eyebrows up in question. Tony shook his head. He wasn’t one to intentionally put himself in awkward situations. Besides, he had gotten the impression that he wasn’t welcome anymore.

“I doubt anyone cares to see me again, not after the stunt I pulled.” Tony frowned, regretting agreeing to do the stupid article in the first place. Or, rather, Pepper forcing him to.

“You should come. Think about it at least.” Natasha looked sincere in her request. Tony agreed to think about it but didn’t make any promises. She smiled one last time before slipping away into the crowd.

In the end, he found himself knocking on the Parker-Romanov door. Tony rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, not so secretly wishing he had stayed home. After a minute of waiting, Tony was about to leave when the door opened and he was met with a shocked Steve Rogers. His shock quickly morphed into irritation as he said, “Mr. Stark, we weren’t expecting you tonight.”

Tony was saved from responding when Natasha walked up behind Steve and placed a placating hand on his shoulder and smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I invited him.”

Tony and Steve stared at each other awkwardly before Steve mumbled something and headed to the living room. “If it’s an issue for anyone, I can just leave—”

“It won’t be an issue. None of them will say anything in front of me, or Peter, for that matter.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Natasha was right. He followed her to the living room like a lost puppy, trying (and failing to ignore) the glares thrown his way from all but one person. A stark contrast from everyone else, Peter had a wide smile on his face. “I didn’t think you were coming tonight,” Peter whispered once Tony had taken a seat next to him. Carol shot them a pointed look, as if Tony had been the one speaking, before informing the group they would be reading from the book And Now Tomorrow. Tony had already read it, but he didn’t mind hearing the beginning again. It was one of the more enjoyable things he had read during the war, a nice break from English propaganda and death tolls in the newspapers.

The glares continued throughout the reading, only breaking when a particularly comedic line was read. Tony regretted coming to the meeting more than ever by the end of the first hour. The only thing that made the whole thing better was the occasional quip Peter muttered when he thought nobody was listening. When the meeting was over, Tony resisted the urge to bolt and instead assisted in the cleanup process. It wasn’t much; just moving chairs back to their original places and bringing glasses to the kitchen.

“Stark, come help me in the kitchen,” Steve called from the other room, pulling Tony from his conversation with Natasha. Tony looked at her with pleading eyes, but she shook her head. I’m not helping you out of this one. Tony walked wordlessly to the kitchen. The very last item on his bucket list was being alone in a room with Steve. He was surprisingly terrifying with despite only having ninety pounds and frail bones to his name.

“What do you need help with?”

“Nothing,” Steve said, folding the towel he had been using to dry the dishes, “We need to talk.”

“I don’t know what you want from me. I've tried to apologize—”

“This isn’t about an apology. Sit down,” Tony choose the chair farthest away from Steve, only for him to sit down across from him anyway. Tony shifted uncomfortably in his chair while the pair stared at each other. It seemed Steve was waiting for Tony to start the conversation though he was the one who brought the man in there.

Eventually, Steve cleared his throat before speaking. “I’m going to tell you why I don’t want you to write that article. You deserve to know. Plus, Sam said I must talk about it sometime. Between the two of us, he tries to act like my therapist.”

“Bucky was my best friend. Jewish too. I’m sure you know how this ends, but I’m going to tell you anyway. They did all the same shit here they did in Nuremburg. The star, the registration, stealing property. The deportations came later. The mainland tried to evacuate them, but Bucky wouldn’t leave. I was sick back then—still am, really—and couldn’t travel.

“So, he refused to leave. I still remember what he said to me. Said, ‘There’s no way in hell I’m going to leave you behind. We’re in this together. Till the end of the line, remember?’ I think the worst part of it was that he never regretted his decision. Not even when the Germans deported him.”

Steve had to take a deep breath before continuing. Tony could see the tears in his blue eyes and the way he didn’t bother to force them back, as if every word broke his heart. They sure broke Tony’s. Pepper would have done the same thing for him, no doubt. He would do it for her too.

“That was back in ’42. I don’t even have anything to remember him by because the Germans went around seizing Jewish property.”

“I don’t . . . I’m sorry. That’s horrible.” Tony whispered. He could only watch while Steve tried to erase the tears trailing down his face. Steve nodded his head.

“Absolutely fucking terrible. I think the worst part was that he never regretted his decision. Every day I asked him if he regretted his decision, and every day his answer was the same. ‘Of course, I don’t regret it. I’m with you ‘till the end of the line.’”

Silence settled over the pair for several minutes. Steve’s words found their way into the cracks of Tony’s heart, sticking themselves in a way he knew he would never forget. Battlegrounds were cruel, but crueler still was the mark they left in the lives of the innocent. Eventually the pain would fade from sharp needles to a dull ache, but it would be there all the same.

“I get the impression that you don’t take handouts, but if you ever need something . . . let me know. I can’t fix what happened to you, or anyone else here, but I still want to help.” Tony said eventually. It was difficult to force the words out through the emotion in his throat.

Steve was saved from responding when Natasha poked her head in the door and asked if everything was alright, shooting a glance between Steve’s tearstained face and Tony’s sincere one. The men nodded, both using this opportunity as a way out. Tony stood quickly and cleared his throat.

“Its best I go. It’s already nine and Ms. Stimple will not be pleased if I show up later than 9:45 again.” Steve nodded and stood as well to gather his coat from the living room.

“And then there were two,” Natasha joked, pushing off the wall and walking to the table. “Mind if I walk with you? I find that it’s no fun to walk alone.”

“No, it isn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter even though it wasn't my best work, but I'll see you on time next week! I have next weeks chapter already written, and its my favourite for reasons I hope become apparent when I publish it! Lets just say that's when the thunderstorm, hurt/comfort, and nightmare tags come into play, because you know I'm a hoe for those tags XD. If you liked, please leave kudos/comments because I look forward to your feedback! If you didn't like this chapter, please let me know what I could have done better (I know there's a lot . . .). Follow me on Instagram @its.the.end.of.the.line (personal) or @cold.nights.summer.days for writing updates and scream with my on Tumblr @unfathomable-universe ! Love you all bunches and hope to see you back next week!


	6. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thunderstorms! Nightmares! Nostalgia!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally posting on time again! Yay! This is actually my favorite chapter that I wrote ages ago, so I hope you enjoy it. In trying to make up for my lack of schedule the last two (three?) weeks, this chapter is a bit longer than you guys are used to :)
> 
> P.S. If you're wondering why it says chapter four, its because there were originally 7 chapters: the prologue, one, two, three, four, five, epilogue. Now its 6/8 because there is an authors note in the middle that disrupted the flow of numbers. Sorry :)

Ms. Stimple was not pleased at the new extension of Tony’s trip, to say the least. Between constantly being late for her curfew and the company he was keeping, she had a very apparent dislike for the man. Upon his return on Friday she made it clear that he had until tomorrow morning to find a new place to stay. Lucky enough for him, Natasha had been there to offer a place to stay. That was where he was now, in the guest bedroom at the end of the hall.

Rain lashed the windows of the quaint house, rattling the glass panes. It wasn’t this that kept Tony awake, though. It was the deadline for the article he had to write. He needed to send it to Pepper by tomorrow afternoon to ensure she had enough time to read it over and send it on to New York. There were two problems with this: A) he had no consent and B) he had nothing written. Pepper would be livid when he called her tomorrow morning to inform her of this. Even if he wasn’t worrying about how he would tell Pepper about his predicament he wouldn’t be sleeping anyways. The thunder was too loud and the lightening too bright.

Also, nightmares. But Tony didn’t like to dwell on those.

He sat at the small desk with his extracurricular research spread haphazardly before him. Pages and pages of notes on the occupation, as well as comments Peter had made about conditions under Germans, made up the bulk of it. There were other pages, the files Rhodey had sent him from the London Military Office. Tony didn’t want to open those. If the files said the kid’s aunt was dead, he would have to deliver the news. Not to the kid himself, but he didn’t want to have to tell anyone. It was clear that everyone in the society cared deeply about May.

Just as he steeled himself to open the file and read what it said about one May Parker, he heard cries from down the hall. Tony’s heart broke at the sound. Quickly after he heard the creak of a door and the floorboards in the hallways creaking. He wanted to see who it was, see what he could do for them, but it this didn’t feel like his place. If he even had a place in all this besides ‘nosy journalist’. He hoped so. Hoped that these people were meant to stay in his life, and him in theirs. Things had felt better, he had felt better, since coming to Guernsey. Things didn’t feel so empty for him anymore.

Five minutes later when the noise had not subsided, Tony's curiosity won and he decided to check it out. The closer he walked to the bedroom down the hall—Peter’s bedroom—the more he wished he had just stayed out of it. He had no idea what to do with a crying teenager. Besides, Natasha probably had this handled. There was no need for him to get involved—

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, having spotted Tony through the gap between the door and the wall. Tony had two options now; plow forwards or apologize and duck out. He went for the latter and somehow ended up sitting at the foot of Peter’s bed anyways.

Peter was sitting against the headboard, knees tucked up to his chest with his arms wrapped tight around himself. His eyes were puffy and tear filled. Natasha was next to him, carding her fingers through his already tousled hair. Tony felt the urge to comfort this kid who wasn’t his and protect him from the rest of the world.

“Nightmare?” Tony whispered to Natasha. Peter heard him anyway and shook his head.

“Ill explain later,” Natasha whispered back. There was another flash of lightening followed by a clap of thunder that rattled the windows and Peter whimpered again. _Oh_ , Tony thought, _he’s afraid of the storm._ There was nothing he could do to fix this situation except distract the kid from what was going on outside. Peter must have had the same thought because he asked for someone to tell him a story. Natasha and Tony glanced at each other.

“I’m not the author here, Tony,” She laughed, smirking at him.

“Okay, um, what do you want to hear a story about?” Tony hoped Peter would pick something easy. He may be an author, but it was hard to make a story up as you were telling it. Writing was different because you could stop and gather your thoughts before beginning.

“Something happy.” Peter sniffed. He pulled his head up from where it had been resting on his knees and looked at Tony expectantly. Tony cleared his throat, trying to buy time while he wracked his brain for a happy story. He didn’t write happy stories. Sure, they had comedic relief and ended well, but they weren’t happy.

“I used to live in Italy a long time ago, before my family moved to America and then London. I was young then, around eight or so. My family lived and worked an olive grove. You know, where almost every inch of land is covered in olive trees?” Peter nodded. He had read about olive groves in an agricultural book once, though he had certainly never seen one.

“You can pick them anywhere from August to November depending on what you’re using them for, but every September my mom would wake me up early, just before the sun would begin to rise and make me get dressed quickly. Then we would go down to the kitchen where she had made us each a cornetto the night before—”

“What’s a cornetto?” Peter interrupted. The tears had begun to slow down despite the storm still raging outside. Tony was going to count that as a win.

“It’s like a croissant but softer and people usually put something in them, like jam or custard. Mine aren’t as good as my mom’s, but I’ll have to make one for you to try. They taste amazing. Anyways, we would take them from the counter and eat them while we walked to the middle of the grove. That was her favourite spot because the trees looked like they stretched for miles.”

Talking about his mom made Tony nostalgic, but not sad like it used to. It made him happy to remember all the things they had done together. He smiled as he finished the story.

“We would pick them until we had a basket full and take them back up to the house before going to the market. There we would get fresh spices and tomatoes to make Pasta Puttanesca. We spent the rest of the morning making fresh pasta for it, too. Those were my favourite days.”

Natasha gave Tony a knowing look. It must have been obvious in the way that he spoke that he missed his mother. Missed the days he got to spend with her and the memories they made.

“Thank you,” Peter yawned. Now that he had calmed down, he was exhausted.

“Anytime, kid.” Tony replied, still lost in his thoughts. Natasha gave Peter a quick forehead kiss before wishing him a good night. After they had both left the room she motioned her head towards the stairs, asking Tony to follow her. Only once they were downstairs did she speak.

“Thank you. It’s hard to talk him down on nights like this. Usually I’m up until sunrise.” Natasha said, standing on her tiptoes to grab two mugs from the top shelf of a cabinet. Tony watched her curiously as she made hot chocolate. He hadn’t pegged her for the hot chocolate kind of person.

They chatted idly for a few minutes while they sipped their cocoa until Natasha set her mug down and cleared her throat. Tony looked up from where he was studying the frayed tablecloth.

“It’s because of the bombs.” Tony didn’t have to guess what she meant. Peter was afraid of thunder because it reminded him of when the Germans bombed the island. That was one of the very first things Tony researched; just before they showed up to occupy Guernsey, they bombed the harbor because a few lorries full of tomatoes looked like military transports.

“I understand. Thunder does me that way, too.”

“You were a victim of the blitz?”

“One of the first.” Tony remembered that day flawlessly. It was a crisp September afternoon. A Friday. He had four books out at the time and was working on his fifth (the third and final installment of the Iron Man trilogy) in his study. Tony hadn’t left the flat in six days—he had a habit of holing himself up in his flat to work when he felt particularly inspired— and the study for nearly twenty-four hours. The only reason he did leave when he did was because Pepper was coming by for dinner in two hours.

Just as he entered his bedroom to make himself look presentable, he heard roaring engines soar overhead. Not three minutes later he heard screaming and explosions. His study, and everything in it, was lying three stories below in a pile of rubble. There was shouting now; people searching for loved ones and pets. Tony could only watch as a mother discovered her daughter dead, crushed by the building above her collapsing.

Tony was beginning to come to terms with the fact that if he had moved only three minutes later, he would be dead. It was a difficult thing to ponder, mortality was. Before the Blitz, he had been ignorant of his own loneliness. He chose to bury it in writing and pretend his characters were company enough for him. But watching, listening, as people searched for the ones they cared about made him realize how wrong he was. That he was a man with everything, and yet, nothing.

Natasha saw the memories in his eyes. He coughed to clear the lump in his throat as he tried to avoid a panic attack. That was the last thing either of them wanted right now. To change the topic, Tony asked why Natasha took care of Peter. The words came out blunt and strangled. Realizing the kind of question, he had asked, he quickly tried to apologize, to backtrack. Natasha wouldn’t have it, insisting that he deserved to know after telling part of his story.

“I was a Todt worker. Brought from Russia by the Germans and forced to work on the wall that would keep our liberators out.”

\-------------------------------------- 

It was another dark and stormy night in St. Peter Port, this one a summer storm instead of an autumn one. Two people walked as quick as possible down the road, carrying a third one between them. The third one seemed inches from death. Body emaciated enough to count her ribs, eyes drooping closed, lips blue. One of the people holding her, a man in a green uniform with a shining swastika on his collar, whispered encouragement to her.

“Come on, Natasha. You’ve made it this far, just a little bit longer.” When he spared a glance at her face, he too noticed her blue lips. “Wait a second, May. Fuck. She’s turning blue—let me give her my jacket.”

The woman named May held Natasha up while the man quickly shed his jacket and forced Natasha’s limp form into it. The olive green of the jacket made her complexion deathlier. With another layer between her and the elements, the three took off again. That is, until Natasha’s knees buckled under her.

“Clint, can you carry her? I can run ahead and get supplies from the hospital.” The man—Clint—nodded. “Good, you remember where to go, right? The back door is unlocked. Be careful, my nephew is sleeping upstairs.”

“Got it, just go get the supplies and meet me in twenty minutes.”

Natasha’s previously drooping eyes closed now as she passed out. Clint cursed under his breath as he ran as fast as he dared back to May’s house. The back door was unlocked, as promised, and he carried Natasha to the living room. After gently placing her on the couch and piling as many blankets as he could find on top of her, Clint crept up the stairs to check that May’s nephew was still asleep.

Fifteen minutes later, May came rushing in the back door with a basket full of various medical supplies. 

“Close the curtains and keep watch by the window. We don’t need soldiers shooting at our lights tonight,” May ordered and began pulling supplies from her basket. Clint did as he was told, glancing back every so often to the unconscious form on the couch, praying that she would be alright.

\---------------------------------------------

“May saved you from the camps?” Tony kept his voice soft, afraid to wake Peter. The words sat heavy on his tongue and the idea of what Natasha had been through sat heavy on his heart. Natasha nodded before continuing.

“Her and Clint did. He was a German soldier. Clint got sent off island four months later for stealing rations to give to me. I don’t know where he went, or if he’s even still alive. Same with May. She was sent off island two months after he was for helping another slave.”

\---------------------------------------------

“If you get caught, they’ll send you to the continent!” Natasha whisper shouted. Her and May stood in the barn outside the Parker’s house. A boy, almost as emaciated as Natasha had once been, huddled in the corner on a stack of hay. Their breath rose like steam in the cold winter air.

“I can help him—”

“You can’t go to the hospital this late. You’ve already been arrested before, this will be an excuse for them to send you away. Think about Peter, May. What happens to Peter if you’re gone?”

“What if this was Peter? This boy is someone else’s child, Natasha. I can’t leave him to die!”

“Then let me go. Just tell me what you need from the hospital and I’ll go get it—”

“They won’t let you in, Nat. Just wait here, I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, twenty minutes tops.”

Natasha sighed, knowing this battle was lost. May took the boy with her to the hospital along with their last piece of bread. The next morning Natasha had to tell Peter that his aunt was gone away on a trip for a little while. She didn't have the heart to tell him the truth.

“How long will she be gone for?” the ten-year-old asked innocently.

“I don’t know.” Natasha replied.

\-----------------------------------------------------

“At first I took care of him because I felt an obligation towards May for helping me escape. Now I understand why she insisted on helping that child even though he wasn’t hers. Sometimes I still hate her for leaving me to figure this out on my own, leaving Peter on his own, but it’s hard to hate someone who means so much to me.” Natasha finished quietly. Tears pooled in her eyes and cut trails down her face. Tony thought to the file on the desk upstairs that held May’s fate.

“I have a friend at the military office in London. Last week I asked if he could find her for me, well, for you guys. He sent me a file with her name on it. I don’t know what’s in it . . . I couldn’t find it in myself to open it.”

“Can—can I read it? Is it here?” Natasha wiped the tears from her face. Tony’s heart broke for her. Even knowing that it was impossible for May to still be alive, he could hear the hope in her voice. Tony nodded and left to grab the file from where it sat on the top of his messy pile of notes. On the way back to the kitchen table he carefully slid open the door to Peter’s room to check on him. The storm had mostly blown over now, only a light rain remaining. Peter slept peacefully; his hand curled in a fist around his comforter while he snored lightly.

Tony settled back into his seat next to Natasha and placed the file in front of them. The front was blank. That was worse; it gave no clue as to what kind of information it held. The pair stared at the blank folder for a few moments and waited for the other to make the first move. Natasha glanced at Tony and he nodded, urging her to open the folder.

An angry red stamp was plastered across the front page that read "deceased". Natasha flipped to the next page as if she hadn’t seen it. Both had known what was inside all along. May disappeared over two years ago. It was unlikely she had survived that long in a camp, if she had even gone to the continent at all. The next page had details about her death.

“May Parker was shot in April 1945 at Bergen-Belsen concentration camp for assisting a set of twins (Wanda Maximoff and Pietro Maximoff) to hide their relation from the Germans.” Tony read. From what Natasha had told him, this was on par with what he knew of May. “May Parker was found to be telling the two to not admit to being twins to avoid experimentation (it is unknown as to how she knew of the Nazi scientists’ atrocities) and was subsequently shot as the twins were taken away by another set of guards.”

“Sounds about right.” Natasha said gruffly as she placed her head in her hands. “I’ll have to tell him tomorrow morning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s the damn Germans who put me in this situation.”

\-------------------------------------------

Later that morning (it had been well after midnight when Peter woke up) Natasha told Peter about the file. Tony had been in a different room than them, but he still heard Peter when he said, “I know she’s gone, Nat. I knew ages ago that she wasn’t coming back.” Tony didn’t quite know how to act when Peter walked downstairs. Something had shifted last night between the them, and Natasha as well, but Tony couldn’t pinpoint what it was. He only knew that things felt _different._

Peter tried to apologize for last night’s events over breakfast, but Tony wouldn’t let him. After that the three of them ate breakfast in a somber silence, the only sound the scraping of forks against plates and glasses clinking on the tabletop. Peter had to work at the post office today and Tony needed to make a few calls (one to Pepper about the article he wasn’t writing, and one to Rhodey about finding a guy named Clint Barton) so they decided to walk there together.

“Thank you,” Peter said once the house had disappeared from view. Tony wondered what he was being thanked for. They had settled the whole I’m-afraid-of-thunderstorms thing before breakfast. “Not for last night, I mean, thank you for that too, but I’m talking about the file. On my aunt.”

“Oh.” Tony had no idea what to say. He looked over at Peter, who was fiddling with the cuffs of his too short jacket. He made a note to have Pepper mail him one of his smaller jackets before he left to "accidentally" leave behind.

“I knew she was gone, but part of me kept hoping she would come back, you know? It’s better to have proof so that I don’t keep disappointing myself everyday by staring at the front door and expecting her to walk through it.” Peter’s voice cracked at the end, betraying the stoic attitude he had been pretending to have.

“Nat gave me the whole thing after she told me that May was gone. I read some of it. Not the medical stuff, I don’t have a chance at understanding any of it, but I read about the twins she helped. Wanda and Pietro. I hope they made it out okay.”

“From what I’ve heard, she was a great person. An amazing parent. It’s truly a shame that the world lost her, especially because they didn’t deserve her. And I’m not so great with this emotion’s thing, but I know how it feels to lose a mother, so if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.” Tony stopped walking, forcing Peter to stop and look at him. Tony wanted Peter to know that he was being sincere.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.” Peter said. After a moment of hesitation Peter wrapped his arms around Tony and buried his head in his shoulder. “Thank you so much.”

\-------------------------------------------------

The phone call with Rhodey went smoothly. He agreed, thought slightly reluctantly, to look for Clint Barton. Rhodey was only reluctant because Tony had told him that Clint Barton was a German soldier. He didn’t share the rest of the story because while Peter was surely in the loop about Natasha’s sudden appearance, he would rather not discuss it in front of the kid.

The phone call with Pepper went decidedly less smooth. First, he had to finally tell her he wasn’t drafting the article and that he had been lying about working on it for the last two weeks. Second, he told her he wanted to cancel the book tour all together and stay in Guernsey for a few more weeks.

“You what? Tony, you can’t cancel the tour or put it off for any longer. I’m picking you up at the airstrip tomorrow at noon. Don’t be late or you’ll regret it.” She had said, hanging up the phone right after. Tony tried not to seem dejected when he handed Peter enough change to cover his call and bid him goodbye. He would tell him and Natasha later.

Tony checked his watch as he exited the post office. It was only ten in the morning, giving him five hours until Peter would be home and another two more for Natasha. With nothing better to do, he went back to Natasha’s to grab his notes and decided to go to the bar. Not to drink, of course. He had been working hard to stay clean. Tony only wanted a change of atmosphere.

Time crawled by slowly. Tony was sitting in the back in an uncomfortable wooden chair with a half-full glass of water on the table. He was halfway through reorganizing his notes for the third time because he didn’t have much else to do when the chair across from him was pulled out and a skinny blond sat down.

“Mind if I join you?” Steve asked. Tony shrugged; the guy was already sitting there, he wasn’t about to tell him to leave. The atmosphere turned awkward as neither said anything. Tony could tell that Steve wasn’t a big fan of him even though he had shared his story with him.

“I still don’t want you to write that article, but I know that its your job. I don’t know if you got anyone else’s consent, but you can have mine.” Tony was surprised that Steve would give him consent to share such a private story. He shook his head.

“Oh, that’s long over. Told my publisher this morning I wasn’t writing it, actually.” Tony informed Steve nonchalantly. He had given up on writing the article the first night. After that he only wanted to know what had happened to these people.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t worry about it. These stories aren’t mine to tell, especially not to the world. My career isn’t worth more than your privacy.”

“Thank you—that, that means a lot. Not just to me, but to all of us.” Steve said. He even smiled; the first time Tony had seen him do so since they met. And the last, if Pepper was going to have her way.

\--------------------------------------------

The next day Tony woke up in a sour mood. Seeing the clock on the wall reminded him that he only had five more hours with the people he was starting to call friends and the place he was starting to call home. His suitcases were already packed and sitting by the bedroom door. Instead of going back to sleep like he desperately wanted to, Tony forced himself to get up and dress. He wasn’t going to waste the last few hours he had on Guernsey.

When he walked downstairs breakfast was already on the table. Peter tried not to let it show that he was upset that Tony was leaving, but Tony noticed anyway. Still, the conversation was light and happy as they ate. Soon enough though, it was time to head to the airstrip. Conversation began to die down the closer they got.

When they crested the hill next to the runway Tony saw them. The whole society had come to see him off, and for some reason, that thought made him want to cry. Carol, Sam, Steve, and Peggy stood waiting for Tony, Natasha and Peter. Tony checked his watch again. Five minutes.

Everyone gave him sad smiles as they said goodbye. Peter waited until everyone else had gone to say his goodbye. When he started, he could hear the plane. Fiddling again with the cuffs of his jacket the words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush like they had when the pair had met for the first time.

“Thanks for coming all the way out here. I didn’t really think much would come of sending that letter, but I’m glad I did because I appreciate everything you’ve done for us the last couple of weeks. Especially for—” Peter had to clear his throat before he could get the next words out. Tears were clawing their way to the surface and Peter fought hard to push them down. Little did he know, Tony was doing the very same thing. “For getting that file. And for sharing that story about your mom.”

“Anytime, kid. I must thank you, too. If you hadn’t written that letter, I never would have met any of you and I would be so much worse off.” Tony said. “And don’t forget to write, that goes for all of you,” He said the last bit to the group, giving them a pointed look for emphasis.

Just then the plane landed on the runway, kicking up clouds of dust. Tony picked up his things and headed to the stairs where Pepper was standing. He made a point of not looking at her, instead turning back to the group that was the Shield Literary Society and gave them one last wave.

Pepper didn’t bother trying to talk to him once they had both sat down. She knew it was pointless and that Tony wouldn’t want to talk to her anytime soon. She hated doing this to him, but someone had to keep his career on track.

Tony watched Guernsey disappear behind them as they flew towards the mainland and couldn’t help but feel like part of him was still back on that runway. He hadn’t known what being home meant until he visited Guernsey, and now that he knew, he was being forced to leave it behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed! You can find me on insta @cold.nights.summer.days (for writing updates) or @its.the.end.of.the.line, or scream with me on Tumblr at unfathomable-universen . Have a wonderful week lovelies and see you next time!


	7. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrapping things up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter that contains actual plot, since the next one is the epilogue. Thank you guys so much for sticking with me throughout this story and my irregular update schedule, it means a lot! Much love to you guys, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

There were so many people packed into the little bookshop that Tony was surprised the fire marshal hadn’t shown up yet to declare it a hazard. It was the second day of his book tour and he already couldn’t wait for it to be over. Tony and Pepper weren’t on speaking terms, as friends at least. They had to speak for business reasons. Pepper didn’t understand why Tony was upset. He had been there for two weeks and their deal was for three days. To her his return was overdue. Tony had never enjoyed business trips before (if today was any indication), so why was he being so difficult about this one?

“Who should I make it out to?” Tony asked for the hundredth time. When the parent of the girl getting her book signed gave him an indignant look, Tony realized his words were a tad bit too harsh. He gave them an apologetic smile. He had been here since nine and it was nearing noon. Not to mention he was upset to even be in Leeds at all.

“Mary,” The girl answered quietly. Tony felt guilty. It wasn’t Mary’s fault he was here. Just another hour of signing and then a twenty minute reading, then you get to go back to the hotel, he reminded himself. He scribbled a signature before handing the book back to the excited girl. She gave him a soft smile and a small wave as her mother turned her away.

Thirty minutes later he felt his façade slipping again. Pepper noticed too because she walked up behind him and whispered, “You better not let anything that’s going on with you get in the way of this. I won’t have you tarnishing my name because I made you do your job.” After that she smiled sweetly, fakely, at the crowd. Tony barely managed to not roll his eyes at her. Doing so would surely have earned him a smack on the head, even in front of the crowd.

By the time the reading was finally done, Tony had no patience to spare. All he wanted was to go back to the hotel and not speak to Pepper until they had to be on a train to Manchester. Pepper, however, had other plans. As soon as they were in the backroom of the bookstore, she rounded on him.

“What the hell was that, Tony?” She asked angrily. Tony simply shrugged his shoulders at her; another one of his ploys at not speaking to her. This only made her more frustrated.

“I caught you glaring several times, and you were being snippy with clients! You’re mad at me, fine. Be mad at me. But I’m not going to let you ruin my name in the meantime.”

Tony said nothing. This was a personal conversation, despite the mention of professional things, therefore he would not be taking part in it. He stayed silent the whole walk back to the hotel where they went their separate ways. He didn’t have to see her again until tomorrow morning when they left for the train station. Till then he would be occupied with the copious amounts of notes and interviews he had compiled in Guernsey. Even the thought of that place made his heart clench. It had been four days since he had left. No letters had arrived from anyone, though Tony wouldn’t have known if they had anyway. They would be doomed to sit unopened in the letter box for several more weeks.

Forcing his feelings down, Tony began trying to piece together his research in a somewhat coherent timeline. There were pages on dozens of events, from the German arrival to the transmission from Winston Churchill that the Channel Islands were set to be liberated. Those pages held the story of a special group of people. A story that Tony wasn’t going to tell but was still determined to write. Because those people left a lasting impression on him and he didn’t know what to do other than to than that. Writing had been his coping mechanism for many years, and now would be no exception.  
\-------------------------------  
All was quiet in the Romanov-Parker household. It had been six days since Tony had gone back to London, not that Peter was counting. He knew it was irrational to be upset; Tony wasn’t family, and for that matter, they had only met three weeks prior. Six weeks if you count their correspondence.

Natasha was helping out at the hospital, meaning Peter had the house to himself. Usually he would turn on the radio because he hated feeling alone, and though he knew the people weren’t there with him, their voices the space feel less empty. Now though, he preferred the silence. He was sitting at the dining room table with a pencil in hand. Peter had done this several times. Sat down to write a letter and instead stared at the paper as if he could will the words into existence with only his thoughts.

_“Don’t forget to write, that goes for all of you.”_

Did Tony actually want the society to send him letters or was he trying to be nice by saying that? As far as Peter knew, which was a lot considering where he worked, nobody had sent him anything. To be fair, it hadn’t even been a week yet? Would it be weird to send a letter?

Yes, Peter concluded, it would be. Even though Tony had come to feel like family in the few short weeks he was there. It was odd how quickly Tony seemed to fill the void his parents—biological as well as Aunt May and Uncle Ben—left in his life. It seemed to Peter that as soon as he started getting close to someone the universe would laugh and take them away from him.

Peter sighed and leaned back in his chair. He was going to miss the lively dinner discussions and fun walks to the post office.

With those thoughts in mind, Peter placed the pencil back on the table. Turning on the radio to drown out his mind, he mindlessly hummed along to the lilting familiar tune playing softly in the living room.

_“We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when, but I know we’ll meet again some sunny day,”_

Today the radio didn’t make the house feel less empty. It made the big rooms bigger and the lonely corners darker. Natasha didn’t come home until the sky was dark and the lights burned low. Quietly she turned off the radio, as she had done many times before, and deftly lifted Peter from his position on the couch to take him up to bed. While she wasn’t faring too well herself, he was still dreadfully underweight and easy to carry.  
\-------------------------------  
Tony was in Oxford now. This bookshop was much bigger than the one in Leeds but felt just as crowded. Today was day nine of not speaking to Pepper, though she hadn’t stopped trying to get Tony to talk to her. He could tell her patience was wearing thin.

Good. He was still supremely angry with her. For the record, though, since he wasn’t conversing with Pepper, he had a lot of time to work on his book. Not the one she wanted him to, of course, but the one about the Society. Tony was one of those authors who wrote what he felt, and right now he wasn’t feeling like a superhero. He felt like he was missing something. Granted, he always felt like that nowadays. It was harder now, though, because he saw what he was missing dangled just out of reach.

He felt the ghost of Guernsey tugging at his heart, whispering desperately for him to return. That night in his dreams, he did. The sky was pure blue, no clouds in sight, while he sat on the edge of the cliffs. Tony could see people below him on the beach, could hear their voices if he tried hard enough. They sounded suspiciously like Peter and Natasha.

Several minutes later the two noticed him and began waving for him to come down. Standing quickly (and not bothering to dust the dirt from his pants) Tony made his way down the familiar path to the beach. The closer he came the more faraway the voices sounded until he stood where they stood, and they were gone.

When Tony woke, he felt tears on his pillow. It seems they were never truly there at all.  
\-------------------------------------------

The cool ocean breeze ruffled Peter’s hair as he stood with Natasha. The rest of the society was there, too, standing at the edge of the waves. This particular spot at the end of the beach had been May’s favourite. It was where she took Peter on her days off, where her and Ben had picnic dates.

“I really miss her,” Peter whispered. The words felt clumsy, wrong, on his tongue. May being gone . . . for good, not coming back, felt wrong. Maybe he had always known in the back of his mind that she wouldn’t be coming back, but part of him still hoped. Even now. People that had been declared dead had been found before. Why couldn’t this be similar?

Natasha put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer to her. “I do too, _malen’kiy,_ I do too. She would be proud of you,” Natasha answered quietly. They didn’t want to disrupt the others in their grief.

“You really think so?”

“I know so. And she would tell you its okay to move on and be happy.”

“I think everyone says that when they . . . you know . . .” Peter struggled to get the words out, his attempt at lightening the conversation falling flat. “I know its selfish, but I wish she hadn’t gone that night.”

Natasha had never been particularly good at emotions, but god, was she trying for this kid.

“Me neither, but it was the right thing to do. She could have never lived with herself if she hadn’t. She’s too good.”

“She is—was – good.”

“Yes, she was.”

After that the pair stayed silent, watching the waves roll in. If Peter tried hard enough, he could imagine May standing next to him. He imagined what she would say, what she would do. He imagined Ben standing next to her. Finally together again.

Soon, after everyone else had left and Peter was alone, he finally wept. Until then he had been numb, untouchable by feelings and emotions. He let them fall freely, watching as they mixed with the saltwater.

“Thank you.” The words came out rough and unpolished, full of everything Peter hadn’t felt for days. “For everything you did for me. I hope I can make you proud.”

 _You already make me proud._ The voice in Peter’s head answered, though he could have sworn it was May’s voice. His next words weren’t as steady as hers, though.

“Just promise me something, okay? Don’t forget about me up there, wherever you are. Say hello to my parents for me, too, and try not to trade too many embarrassing stories, no matter how funny they are.”

“I have so much I want to say, so much to tell you. You missed a lot recently. I met Tony Stark a few weeks ago. Yeah, May, my favourite author. He was pretty awesome. I think you two would have gotten along, both fussing over me. He’s the one who found you, actually. The reason Natasha and I know the truth.

“He said he wants to read my writing, but I’m not so sure its good enough. I know, I know. You think it’s the best, but I’m telling you, you’re biased.”

Peter talked until the sun had sunk well below the horizon, informing May of all the trouble he’d been getting into the last few years. At last, once the wind picked up and the cold began to sting, Peter said goodbye one last time before turning to walk home.  
\--------------------------------  
“What are you so damn mad at me about?” Pepper asked one day. Edinburgh was dark despite being mid-afternoon due to the large storm blowing in. Her and Tony had been on their way to yet another book signing (how many was that now? Too many to keep track of, Tony thought) when she finally cracked.

She was met with silence. Not so much because Tony was mad at her, though that was definitely part of it, but because he was focused on his novel. The most recent chapter wasn’t flowing the way he wanted it to, but he couldn’t figure out what was missing. Emotion? Action? Tony was determined to figure out what it was before he lost momentum in his writing. This wasn’t going to be another half-finished side project. This was too important.

“I’m getting tired of the silent treatment, Tony. We’re supposed to be friends. That means you tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”

Another beat of silence.

“Fine don’t tell me. You might have to find yourself a new publisher once this trip is over because I refuse to work with someone who’s being so childish.”

Tony stopped in his tracks and turned to face Pepper. It annoyed him that she knew how to make him talk.

“I’m being childish?”

“What else would you call what you’re doing?”

“Whatever. It won’t be hard to find a new publisher. With my record, I could get in anywhere I wanted to.”

“I’ll be sure to spread the word that you’re looking!” Pepper nearly shouted, earning curious and affronted glances from passerby. Tony was careful to keep his voice down.

“Good. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled.”  
\----------------------------------  
The glass in front Natasha was empty, its burning contents long since tipped down her throat. Even the dim light of the bar made her eyes sting as tears fell from them. Peter was with Harley tonight for the first time in months. The first time in months Natasha had to herself, and the first in weeks she had to grieve. She suspected, nay, _knew_ ¸ that Harley asked him over because he noticed she needed space.

“ _Don’t worry, Ms. Romanov,_ ” Harley said that afternoon (Natasha scared him enough to use her title rather than first name) “He’ll be okay for the night.”

“ _Thank you,_ ” She replied. Natasha hadn’t even gone home after that, she had gone to the pub to take the edge off. However, she found that English liquor was no match for her. It had taken an entire bottle to dull the edges of her vision, and another to make her dizzy. The bartender began eyeing her worriedly after she finished the second and wouldn’t give her anymore.

So now she sat with an empty glass and dreadfully busy mind. Thinking of May, thinking of Peter. Of Clint and Tony. Of home, even. When Natasha arrived in Guernsey in December four years ago, she desperately wanted to return home. Now she didn’t think she would ever go back. The government was a mess, the country in shambles. Besides, she had a family here. A kid to look after.

When May left, Natasha had no idea how to care for Peter. At twelve years old, she couldn’t lie to him about her. He was too smart to believe she would be back soon. So, in all of Natasha’s confusion, she did the best she could to take care of him. She made breakfast, kept him away from the soldiers, and sung him back to sleep when he woke up with nightmares. She read his stories and told him some of her own.

 _I owe my life to you, May. I could never fill your shoes, but I hope you’re proud of me._  
\----------------------------  
Two months and too many cities to count later, Tony was trudging through the door to his apartment building. It hadn’t changed at all since he last saw it. Same cobwebbed corners and worn stairs. It was comforting in a way, yet painful in another. Proof that things wouldn’t change even if he was gone.

Tony shook the dark thoughts just beginning to swirl from his mind. Pepper would chastise him for such ideas before handing over the address of the best therapist. After their truce, she had tried to do just that several times. And just as he had done during the war, he shrugged off her efforts.

Halfway up the stairs, Tony remembered that he should probably check the mail. After all, nothing had been forwarded for two months, and he hoped he didn’t miss anything. Rather than wait till later, he dug the key out of his pocket and unlocked the mailbox. Dozens of letters tumbled to the floor, addressed from several society members.

Bending over to pick them up, Tony clumsily organized them and carried them up to his apartment. He didn’t bother to put anything away before settling into the desk chair and reading them one after the other.  
_10 November 1946_

_Dear Mr. Stark,_

_Sorry it taken me so long to write, I wasn’t sure if you genuinely wanted me to or not. Natasha assured me that you wouldn’t have said to if you weren’t sincere. I hope she’s right._

_Not much has happened since you left. We had a service for May, down at her favourite spot on the beach. I’m afraid that I’ll forget her, though everyone assures me I won’t. I do feel better now, which I hate to write, since saying goodbye. After years of wondering, a definitive answer is comforting, even though it is not good._

_We all knew she was gone, but I think some of us are handling it better than others. I haven’t seen Ms. Danvers since the service (five days ago). Usually I see her in the afternoon market. Natasha isn’t doing so well, either. She tries to hide it, but I know her too well. That’s why I’m going to stay with Harley tonight. I asked him to ask me over ( we both knew she needed a break) to give her space._

_I have to go now, but I hope to hear from you soon._

_Sincerely,_

_Peter Parker  
13 November 1946_

_Tony,_

_I’m not one for sentimentality, you know that, but I believe a thank you is in order._

_Thank you. For telling us the truth. I don’t trust journalists, and frankly, I didn’t trust you the first time I met you either. I thought you were only after a story, willing to hurt anyone in your path. But you proved me wrong._

_Natasha told me of the story you shared with Peter, and of the time you spent with him. It is clear to me now that you were not interested in studying us like animals but learning our stories as people. Most who come here are not so kind._

_Steve Rogers_

_17 November 1946_

_Dear Mr. Stark,_

_I haven’t received a reply yet, but I know you’re busy. Writing another letter, couldn’t hurt, could it?_

_I found something interesting today while I was out. Harley and I went to one of the German look outs today. The government advises us not to, but what’s the harm in a little exploration? Anyways, while we were looking around, I tripped on the uneven floor and fell. Don’t worry, I only scraped my knee, but that’s not the best part._

_We found a trap door! It was almost too heavy to lift, but we managed. Below there was a huge room with tons of ammo rounds and other stuff for the war, but there was another door at the end. Apparently, there are miles of tunnels running under Guernsey! We didn’t explore much of it, but we found a route that comes out at the beach._

_Isn’t that neat? We always wondered how the soldiers got around so fast._

_Sincerely,_

_Peter Parker_

_22 November 1946_

_Dear Mr. Stark,_

_How is your book tour going? I know you didn’t want to go, but I think it would be fun. Getting to meet all the people who read your books must be so interesting. They used to do that at the little bookshop we had here, but it’s still in ruins. Maybe some day someone will fix it and then you can come here. I’m sure Natasha would let you stay with us. The Crown’s roof is finally fixed now, too, so that’s a possibility. It is certainly closer to town._

_The Crown doesn’t have late night hot chocolate, though, so that might affect your decision._

_Sincerely,_

_Peter Parker  
22 November 1946_

_It’s been awhile since we’ve heard from you, Tony. I hope everything is working out for you. Don’t be a stranger._

_-Natasha Romanov_

_P.S. The jacket you “accidently” left behind fits Peter perfectly._

_1 December 1946_

_Dear Mr. Stark,_

_Things haven’t quieted down much since the end of the war. People still arrive with suitcases every day. I don’t know how to feel about that. I used to know almost every one of them, and now I recognize nothing but their name. Most don’t recognize me either. To be fair, I was eight when they left and now I’m fourteen. I must look incredibly different as well._

_What’s more, most of the kids don’t even know how to speak Guernesiais (Guernsey French) anymore. Even their accents are different. I hate to see their faces when they look at our town now. The sadness, the lack of recognition. Its worse when they learn their shops and homes have been occupied by the Germans. It makes most of them never want to set foot in there again._

_They don’t have much choice, though. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if that was me, returning to a home I didn’t recognize. If I had gone to England. I imagine it would have been easier, though not by much. If I had, I would have never met you._

_Sincerely,_

_Peter Parker_

_10 December 1946_

_By now I think we’ve figured out that you aren’t receiving our letters. It seems unlike you to not respond, unless we were your publisher demanding the next chapter. But we aren’t. We’re friends, I dare say._

_Hope to hear from you soon, anyways, though. Our door is always open, should you find yourself needing it._

_-Natasha  
15 December 1946_

_Dear Mr. Stark,_

_I find it difficult to write this time. I am unsure whether to continue or not, seeing as my letters have gone unanswered for over a month. I will continue, at least this once. What’s one more try?_

_Today one of my old friends returned. His name is Ned Leeds. I didn’t think I would see him again, since the last letter he had sent me detailed how much his family enjoyed England. I was so shocked to see him through the post office window that I dropped the crate of mail I had been sorting and ran out the door._

_More surprising still, he remembered me. He will be confused when I introduce him to Natasha, since he does not know what happened to May. It will be hard to tell him. He spent almost as much time with her as I did, we were practically inseparable._

_He just asked who I am writing to (his family is staying with us while they clean up their house), and I swear he nearly fainted when I said your name. He loves your writing almost as much as I do. He says also that he wishes he could have been here while you were._

_Write soon._

_Sincerely,_

_Peter Parker_

_25 December 1946_

_Dear Mr. Stark,_

_I know this letter will arrive after today, but I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas. Or Happy Hanukah. Or Happy Kwanza. I don’t know which you celebrate, or if you celebrate at all. I hate to assume. Happy New Years, as well. Natasha wishes you well, too._

_Sincerely,_

_Peter Parker_

After Christmas, the letters are fewer and far between. Tony’s initial excitement quickly shifted to immense guilt. They thought he had been ignoring them for two months . . . When in reality he had been thinking of them every day.

Fumbling around for a pen and paper, Tony wrote a quick letter to each of them. Before he could seal any of them though, he saw the quickly discarded pile of things by the floor. One thing in particular caught his eye.

The newly finished manuscript carefully packed away in a box.  
\-------------------------------  
Pepper nearly jumped when Tony came bursting into her office. She could barely see him over the paperwork piled in front of her.

They had called a truce weeks ago, and things had been markedly better since.

“I’m leaving,” He said, breathing heavy. Did he run here? Pepper was used to his antics after years of dealing with him, so she put down her pen and played along with a smirk on her face.

“Really? It seems you’ve just arrived.”

“Not here. Well, yes, here. London. I’m leaving London.”

“For how long? I have it on good authority that South America is popular right now,” Pepper laughed.

“Forever, hopefully. If they’ll have me back. Oh my goodness—what if they don’t want to see me again and I’ve gone and done this anyway—” The rest of Tony’s worried rambling was cut off by Pepper, who was used to this also.

“Tony, calm down for a minute. Who doesn’t want to see you again?”

Tony ignored her question. “I’m going back to Guernsey”

Pepper sighed and shook her head. She should have known this was coming. “I know I can’t stop you, but at least tell me. Was it a mistake to let you go, or a mistake to bring you back?”

“Probably both. I just—nothing has felt like home in years. And then these people came around and it felt right. So incredibly right. I hope you understand.” Tony’s voice was soft and quiet, pleading with Pepper to understand why he had to leave.

“I do. Promise to visit, okay? Don’t just disappear.”

“Of course. I’ll have to come turn in manuscripts still, won’t I?”

“Definitely.”  
\------------------------------  
A paper sized box sat unopened on the table addressed to “The Shield Literary Society”. Everyone stared at it, waiting for someone else to make the first move. Seconds ticked by in silence before Peter could stand it no longer and reached to grab the box. He knew that handwriting. Knew the slant of the letters meant that he was writing fast before he could change his mind.

Peter carefully removed the top and sat it on the table next to him and pulled out the note situated on top. _Don’t worry, this is the only copy. Do what you will with it, though I hope that choice isn’t to burn it. I felt that I owed you something, anything, after all you have done for me. I do not know if it is possible to belong to people even before you have met them, but if so, then I belong to you._

“It’s a book.” Peter said once he had finished reading the note aloud, looking around the table at the shocked faces.

“For us?” Steve asked. Peter nodded and pulled out the title page. The dedication page read: To Peter, Natasha, Sam, Steve, Carol, and Peggy. You have taught me that found family is just as real as blood family, and for that, I could never thank you enough.

Though some were trying to hide it, there was not a dry eye at the table. Two weeks simultaneously felt like two seconds and two decades. Tony had only been with them for two weeks, but they felt the same way he did. They were family. Found family. And isn’t found family more important than blood family? The ones we choose say more about us than the ones we are born to.

Natasha wasn’t May’s sister, but she loved her like one anyway.

Steve and Bucky weren’t related, but they loved each other as if they were.

Peter wasn’t Natasha’s child, but she loved him all the same.

All of these connections were chosen, cultivated by choice, and they were strong. They showed who those people were, how good they were. Those bonds, forged in hardship and in peace, would stand the test of time and pain. As they already had, and as they would do.

A knock came from the door, pulling everyone out of their reverie. Peter glanced from the dedication to Natasha, and she nodded. Peter hoped against all hope that he would recognize the person behind that door, and that this time they wouldn’t leave. Still, he tried to push down the butterflies he felt as he walked from the dining room to the foyer, as he opened the door.

“Hey, kiddo.” Tony said. He shivered, but was unsure if it was from the cold or the nerves .Most likely both. He had been gone for four months and had been unsure if they would want him back, would take him back if he came. His question was answered when Peter smiled wide enough Tony thought his face would split in half. Barely a second passed before Peter had wrapped his arms around Tony’s middle and buried his face in his neck. Tony returned the hug without hesitation, something he found difficult with most others.

“Thank you for coming back, Mr. Stark.” Peter’s words were muffled by Tony’s coat, but he understood everything he said.

“Just call me Tony,”

“Thank you for coming back, Tony.”

“Thank you for having me back.” And if Tony was grinning like he had just won the lottery, it was because he did. They stood there for a while longer before Natasha came around the corner and told them to come in and shut the door.

“It’s too cold to leave the door out. And Tony, you’re always welcome here.” She said, adding the last bit once Peter had headed back into the dining room.

“Good. It looks like I’ll be staying awhile.”

All of these connections were chosen, cultivated by choice, and they were strong. They showed who those people were, how good they were. Those bonds, forged in hardship and in peace, would stand the test of time and pain. As they already had, and as they would do.

A knock came from the door, pulling everyone out of their reverie. Peter glanced from the dedication to Natasha, and she nodded. Peter hoped against all hope that he would recognize the person behind that door, and that this time they wouldn’t leave. Still, he tried to push down the butterflies he felt as he walked from the dining room to the foyer, as he opened the door.

“Hey, kiddo.” Tony said. He shivered, but was unsure if it was from the cold or the nerves .Most likely both. He had been gone for four months and had been unsure if they would want him back, would take him back if he came. His question was answered when Peter smiled wide enough Tony thought his face would split in half. Barely a second passed before Peter had wrapped his arms around Tony’s middle and buried his face in his neck. Tony returned the hug without hesitation, something he found difficult with most others.

“Thank you for coming back, Mr. Stark.” Peter’s words were muffled by Tony’s coat, but he understood everything he said.

“Just call me Tony,”

“Thank you for coming back, Tony.”

“Thank you for having me back.” And if Tony was grinning like he had just won the lottery, it was because he did. They stood there for a while longer before Natasha came around the corner and told them to come in and shut the door.

“It’s too cold to leave the door out. And Tony, you’re always welcome here.” She said, adding the last bit once Peter had headed back into the dining room.

“Good. It looks like I’ll be staying awhile.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think? Leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed it (comments even if you didn't, I'm always looking to improve. Follow my Insta (cold.nights.summer.days) or my Tumblr (unfathomable-universe) for updates on my writing :) Love you guys so much!!


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update today :) School started and I decided to post the last two so I don't forget next week. Enjoy the end, and I'm sorry if it feels rushed and unpolished. Things feel really off for me right now and I don't have the motivation to get up in the morning, much less writing and rewriting a chapter over and over again. That being said, thank you so much for making it to the end with me. I started writing this three months ago with a word goal of 16,000 and now its over 20,000! I'm so proud to have gotten this done and I'm glad to be able to share it with all you amazing lovely readers :)

Seven Months Later

10 August 1947

Today was a lovely day for a picnic. The sun shone through the trees, bright light speckling the ground. It was almost cliché, Tony would say, that the birds were even singing today. He might also say it was cliché that he magically found this kid and became an important part of his life. Well, that was a lie. Peter found him, not the other way around.

Either way, he was grateful.

Peter had spread out a blanket that he had found in the basement of his old home, a worn blue thing that had seen better days. That was where they were now, in the backyard of Peter’s old home and Tony’s new one. Tony had bought it when he came back to Guernsey over six months prior. Peter kept his old bedroom and occasionally stayed the night when Natasha was working late or because he didn’t feel like walking back home.

Just then, Natasha walked out the back door holding a small cake. Chocolate, because that was Peter’s favourite. It was his birthday, after all. This was their private celebration before the big party later. Tony had a surprise for Peter that he would rather keep between the three of them for now.

“Are excited for the party later?” Natasha asked, setting the down the cake and sitting next to Peter. Peter laughed and said he was surprised that many people were showing up just for him.

“It’s not too many people. Just Harley, Ned, Carol, Sam, Steve . . . okay, it is sort of a lot of people,” Tony said, counting people off on his fingers. “Pepper and Rhodey are coming too.”

“They are?”

“Of course they are, they haven’t gotten to meet you yet. And I heard that they’re both very excited.”

Peter blushed but didn’t have time to say anything else before being instructed by Natasha to make a wish and blow out the candles. He closed his eyes tight and tried to think of something to wish for.

He didn’t need anything. He had a family. He had friends. He was happy.

Peter opened his eyes again, smiling, and blew out the candles. Content in the knowledge that he had nothing to wish for. Maybe that’s what you should wish for, to be so happy you didn’t want to wish for anything. He made a mental note of that thought. It was perfect for the story he was currently working on.

When they asked him what he wished for, he shook his head and said, “Nothing.”

“Oh, that’s right. If you tell us then it doesn’t come true.” Natasha joked. Tony laughed along with her.

“No, really. I didn’t wish for anything.”

“Peter Parker, wasting birthday wishes. Who would’ve thought?”

“I didn’t waste it. I just didn’t need it. I have everything I need, you know? I have you guys, and Ned and Harley, and so many others. Who needs wishes when they have happiness?”

“Careful, kid, with lines like that you’ll steal my job right out from under me.” Tony said. Peter shrugged while Natasha smiled. Of all the people she could have met, she was glad it was these two. The journey was difficult, but that made the destination so much sweeter. Natasha thought of May, of how proud she would be to see Peter today, to hear what he had just said.

“May would be so proud of you, Peter.”

“Thank you, Nat. She would be proud of you too.”

Natasha cleared her throat and announced it was time to open gifts, presumably before the conversation turned sour. May was still a difficult subject sometimes, especially on holidays.

Tony picked up the medium sized giftbag that had been sitting beside him and handed it to Peter with a knowing smirk. Peter eyed him and the bag suspiciously, as if it might explode into confetti. Even Natasha was intrigued; Tony had refused to tell her what it was earlier that week when she saw the bag on his desk.

_“I swear he hears everything, I’m not ruining the surprise by saying what it is.”_

Peter pulled the tissue paper out agonizingly slowly, careful not to rip any of it. Tony rolled his eyes playfully. Of course he was one of those people. The revelation didn’t surprise him one bit. Instead of saying anything, the two adults watched quietly while Peter pulled out the present, a red and blue book. The title read The Amazing Spider-Man.

After reading the note tucked inside the cover, Peter looked incredulously from the book to Tony and back again. A large grin quickly took over his features as he spoke.

“You wrote this for me?” Peter asked excitedly. Tony nodded and instructed him to read the first page.

“You named a character after me”

“Ned is in there, too. Wait until I’m around to tell him, though, because I’m sure his reaction will be noteworthy. As for the book itself, this is the first copy. It won’t be on the shelves for a few more weeks.”

“This is so awesome, Tony, oh my gosh—thank you!” Peter practically tackled him in a hug and Tony knew that all those months of hard work were worth it.

“You’re welcome kiddo, but we should probably get going soon so we aren’t late.”

“Yeah. Ned is going to be so excited when I tell him about this!”  
\----------------------------  
True to Tony’s words, Ned’s reaction was noteworthy. For a minute Tony thought he might faint, but then suddenly two teenagers were hugging him. Pepper laughed somewhere to his left, and he shot her a playful glare. Once he was finally free again, he introduced Peter to Rhodey and Pepper. It was clear that they both loved him, even just after their short conversation.

Later, after the party had died down a bit, Tony found himself in a quiet conversation with Pepper, talking about anything and nothing.

“I’m glad you’re happy here, Tony. I know how hard it was for you these last few years.” She said earnestly. Tony swirled his drink to avoid looking at her. He had missed her a lot since moving to Guernsey. Rhodey too.

“Yeah, but the destination was worth the journey."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed this story, I'd love to hear your feedback. Expect some new content soon, since I am a part of the Ladies of Marvel bingo challenge and am working on the mythology fill (hint: Altantis The Lost Empire). I won't be starting another large project until after December most likely, because I'll be focusing on the bingo and the Marvel Reverse Big Bang is also starting later this year. 
> 
> Instagram: cold.nights.summer.days  
> Tumblr: unfathomable-universe


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